"Greater
love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for hisfriends.
You are My friends if you do what I command. I no longer call you servants,
because a servant does not know his master's business. Instead, I have called
youfriends, for everything
that I learned from my Father I have made known to you." John 15:13-15

PREFACE.
George MacDonald said in an address, "The longer I live, the more I am assured
that the business of life, is to understand the Lord Jesus Christ." If this is
true, whatever sheds even a little light on the character or life of Christ, is
worth while.

Nothing
reveals a man'sheart, better
than his friendships. The kind offriendhe
is—tells the kind ofmanhe
is. The personal friendships of Jesus reveal many tender and beautiful things in
his character. They show us also what is possible for us in divine friendship;
for the heart of Jesus is the same yesterday, and today, and forever.

These
chapters are only suggestive—not exhaustive. If they make the way into close
personal friendship with Jesus any plainer for those who hunger for such blessed
intimacy—that will be reward enough.

1. The
Human-heartedness of Jesus

2. Jesus and
his Mother

3. Jesus and
his Forerunner

4. Jesus'
Conditions of Friendship

5. Jesus
choosing his Friends

6. Jesus and
the Beloved Disciple

7. Jesus and
Peter

8. Jesus and
Thomas

9. Jesus'
Unrequited Friendships

10. Jesus
and the Bethany Sisters

11. Jesus
comforting his Friends

12. Jesus
and His Secret Friends

13. Jesus'
farewell to His Friends

14. Jesus as
a Friend

1. The
Human-heartedness of Jesus

There is
a natural tendency to think of Jesus asdifferentfrom
other men in the human elementof
his personality. Our adoration of him as our divine Lord, makes it seem almost
sacrilege to place his humanity in the ordinary rank with that of other men. It
seems to us that life could not have meant the same to him—that it means to us.
It is difficult for us to conceive of him as learning in childhood, as other
children have to learn. We find ourselves fancying that he must always have
known how to read and write and speak. We think of the experiences of his youth
and young manhood, as altogether unlike those of any other boy or young man in
the village where he grew up. This same feeling leads us to think of histemptationas
so different from what temptation is to other men, as to be really no temptation
at all.

So we are
apt to think of all the human life of Jesus, as being in some way lifted up out
of the rank of ordinary experiences. We do not conceive of him as having the
same struggles that we have in meeting trial, in enduring injury and wrong, in
learning obedience, patience, meekness, submission, trust, and cheerfulness. We
conceive of hisfriendshipsas
somehow different from other men's. We feel that in some mysterious way, hishumanlife
was supported and sustained by thedeitythat
dwelt in him, and that he was exempt from all ordinary limiting conditions of
humanity.

There is
no doubt that with many people, this feeling ofreverencehas
been in the way of the truest understanding of Jesus, and ofttimes those who
have clung most devoutly to a belief in hisdeity—have
missed much of the comfort which comes from a proper comprehension of hishumanity.

Yet the
story of Jesus as told in the Gospels furnishes no ground for any confusion on
the subject of his human life. It represents him as subject to all ordinary
human conditions, excepting sin. He began life as every infant begins, in
feebleness and ignorance; and there is no hint of any unusual development. He
learned—as every child must learn. The lessons were not gotten easily—or without
diligent study. He played as other boys did, and with them. The more we think of
the youth of Jesus as in no marked way unlike that of those among whom he
lived—the truer will our thought of him be.

Milla is
the great artist, when he was a young man, painted an unusual picture of Jesus,
He represented him as a little boy in the home at Nazareth. He has cut his
finger on some carpenter's tool, and comes to his mother to have it bound up.
The picture is really one of the truest of all the many pictures of Jesus,
because it depicts just such a scene as ofttimes may have been witnessed in his
youth. Evidently there was nothing in his life in Nazareth that drew the
attention of his companions and neighbors to him in any striking way. We know
that he wrought no miracles until after he had entered upon his public ministry.
We can think of him as living a life of unselfishness and kindness. There was
never any sin or fault in him; he always kept the law of God perfectly. But his
perfection was not somethingstartling.
There was nohaloabout
his head, that awed men. We are told that hegrewin
favor with men as well as with God. His piety made his life beautiful and
winning, but always so simple and natural that it drew no unusual attention to
itself. It was richly and ideally human.

So it was
unto the end. Through the years of his public ministry, when hiswordsand
worksburned with divine
revealing, he continued to live an altogether natural human life. He ate and
drank; he grew weary and faint; he was tempted in all points like as we are, and
suffered, being tempted. He learned obedience by the things that he endured. He
hungered and thirsted, never ministering with his divine power to any of his
ownneeds. "In all things it
behooved him to be made like unto his brethren."

In
nothing else is this truth more clearly shown, than in the human-heartedness
which was so striking a feature of the life of Jesus among men. When we think of
him as the Son of God, the question arises: Did he really care for personal
friendships with men and women of the human family? In the home from which he
came—he had dwelt from all eternity in the bosom of the Father, and had enjoyed
the companionship of the highest angels. What could he find in this world of
imperfect, sinful beings—to meet the cravings of his heart for fellowship? Whom
could he find among earth's sinful creatures worthy of his friendship, or
capable of being in any real sense his personal friend? What satisfaction could
his heart find in this world's deepest and holiest love? What light can adim
candlegive to thesun?
Does the great oceanneed thelittle
dewdropthat hides in the bosom
of the rose? What blessing or inspiration of love can any poor, marred, stained
life—give to the soul of the Christ?

Yet the
Gospels abound with evidences that Jesus did crave human love, that he found
sweet comfort in the friendships which he made, and that much of his keenest
suffering was caused by failures in the love of those who ought to have been
true to him as his friends. He craved affection, and even among the weak and
faulty men and women about him, made many very sacred attachments from which he
drew strength and comfort.

We must
distinguish between Christ's love forall
men—and his friendship for particular individuals. He was in the
world to reveal the Father, and all the divine compassion for sinners was in his
heart. It was this mighty love that brought him to earth on the mission of
redemption. It was this that impelled and constrained him in all his seeking of
the lost. He had come to be the Savior of all who would believe and follow him.
Therefore he was interested in every merest fragment or shred of life. No human
soul was so debased, that he did not love it.

But
besides thisuniversal divine loverevealed
in the heart of Jesus, he had his personal human friendships. A
philanthropist may give his whole life to the good of his fellow-men, to their
uplifting, their advancement, their education; to the liberation of the
enslaved; to work among and in behalf of the poor, the sick, or the fallen. All
suffering humanity has its interest for him, and makes appeal to his compassion.
Yet amid the world of those whom he thus loves and wishes to help—this man will
have hispersonal friends; and
through the story of his life, will run the golden threads of sweet
companionships and friendships whose benedictions and inspirations, will be
secrets of strength, cheer, and help to him in all his toil in behalf of others.

Jesus
gave all his rich and blessed life—to the service of love. Power was ever going
out from him—to heal, to comfort, to cheer, to save. He was continually emptying
out from the full fountain of his own heart,cupfuls
of rich lifeto reinvigorate
other lives in their faintness and exhaustion. One of the sources of his own
renewing and replenishing, was in thefriendshipshe
had among men and women. What friends are tousin
our human hunger and need—the friends of Jesus were to him. He craved
companionship, and was sorely hurt when men shut their doors in his face.

There are
few more pathetic words in the New Testament than that short sentence which
tells of his rejection, "He came unto his own—and his own received him not."
Another pathetic word is that which describes the neglect of those who ought to
have been ever eager to show him hospitality: "The foxes have holes, and the
birds of the air have nests—but the Son of man has no where to lay his head."
Even the beasts of the field and the birds of the heaven had warmer welcome in
this world—than he in whose heart was the most gentle love that earth ever knew.

Another
word which reveals the deep hunger of the heart of Jesus for friendship and
companionship, was spoken in view of the hour when even his own apostles would
leave him: "Behold, the hour comes, yes, is now come, when you will be
scattered, each to his own home. You will leave Me all alone." The experience of
thegarden of Gethsemanealso
shows in a wonderful way, the Lord's craving for sympathy. In his great sorrow
he wished to have his best friends near him, that he might lean on them, and
draw from their love—a little strength for his hour of bitter need. It was an
added element in the sorrow of that night—that he failed to get the help from
human sympathy which he yearned for and expected. When he came back each time
after his supplication, he found his apostles sleeping.

These are
some of the glimpses which we get in the Gospel story ofthe
longing heart of Jesus. He loved deeply—and sought to be loved. He was
disappointed when he failed to find affection. He welcomed love wherever it came
to him—the love of the poor, the gratitude of those whom he had helped, the
trusting affection of little children. We can never know how much the friendship
ofthe beloved disciple, was
to Jesus. What a shelter and comfort theBethany
homewas to him, and how his
strength was renewed by its sweet fellowship! How even the smallest kindnesses
were a solace to his heart! How he was comforted by the affection and the
ministries of thewomen
friendswho followed him!

In the
chapters of this book which follow, the attempt is made to tell the story of
some of the friendships of Jesus, gathering up the threads of thought, from the
Gospel pages. Sometimes the material is abundant, as in the case of Peter and
John; sometimes we have only a glimpse or two in the record, albeit enough to
reveal a warm and tender friendship, as in the case of the Bethany sisters, and
of Andrew, and of Joseph. It may do us good to study thesefriendship
stories. It will at least show us the human-heartedness of Jesus, and his
method in blessing and saving the world.

The
central fact in every true Christian life, is a personal friendship with Jesus.
Men were called to follow him, to leave all and cleave to him, to believe on
him, to trust him, to love him, to obey him; and the result was the
transformation of their lives into his own beauty! That which alone makes one a
Christian, is being a friend of Jesus.

Friendship transforms—all human friendship transforms. We become like those with
whom we live in close, intimate relations. Life flows into life, heart and heart
are knit together, spirits blend, and the two friends become one.

We have
but little to give to Christ; yet it is a comfort to know that our friendship
really is precious to Him, and adds to His joy—poor and meager though its best
may be. But He has infinite blessings to give to us.

"I have
called you friends." No other gift He gives to us—can equal in value the love
and friendship of His heart.

When King
Cyrus gave Artabazus, one of his courtiers, a 'gold cup', he gave Chrysanthus,
his favorite, only a 'kiss'. And Artabazus said to Cyrus, "The gold cup you gave
me, was not so precious as the kiss you gave Chrysanthus."

No good
man's money is ever worth as much as his love. Certainly the greatest honor of
this earth, greater than rank or station or wealth—is the friendship of Jesus
Christ.

And this
honor is within the reach of everyone. "Greater love has no one than this, that
he lay down his life for his friends. You are my friends if you do what I
command. I no longer call you servants, because a servant does not know his
master's business. Instead, I have called you friends, for everything that I
learned from my Father I have made known to you." John 15:13-15

The
stories of the friendships of Jesus when He was on the earth, need cause no one
to sigh, "I wish that I had lived in those days, when Jesus lived among men—that
I might have been His friend too, feeling the warmth of His love, my life
enriched by contact with His, and my spirit quickened by His love and grace!"
The friendships of Jesus, whose stories we read in the New Testament, are only
patterns of friendships into which we may now enter, if we are ready to
consecrate our life to Him in faithfulness and love.

The
friendship of Jesus includes all other blessings for time and for eternity! "All
things are yours, and you are Christ's!"

His
friendship sanctifies all pure human bonds—no friendship is complete, which is
not woven of athreefold cord.
If Christ is our friend, all of life is made rich and beautiful to us.

2.
Jesus and His MOTHER

The first
friend a child has in this world—is its mother. It comes here an utter stranger,
knowing no one; but it finds love waiting for it. Instantly the little stranger
has a friend, a bosom to nestle in, an arm to encircle it, a hand to minister to
its helplessness. Love is born with the child. The mother presses it to her
bosom, and at once her heart's tendrils entwine about it.

It is a
good while before the child becomes conscious of the wondrous love that is
bending over it, yet all the time the love is growing in depth and tenderness.
In a thousand ways, by a thousand delicate arts—the mother seeks to awaken in
her child—a response to her own yearning love. At length the first gleams of
answering affection appear—the child has begun to love. From that hour the holy
friendship grows. The two lives become knit in one.

When God
would give the world a great man, a man of rare spirit and transcendent power, a
man with a lofty mission—he first prepares a woman to be his mother. Whenever in
history we come upon such a man, we instinctively begin to ask about the
character of her on whose bosom he nestled in infancy, and at whose knee he
learned his life's first lessons. We are sure of finding here the secret of the
man's greatness. When the time drew near for the incarnation of the Son of God,
we may be sure that into the soul of the woman who should be his mother, who
should impart her own life to him, who should teach him his first lessons, and
prepare him for his holy mission, God put the loveliest and the best qualities
that ever were lodged in any woman's life.

We need
not accept the teaching that exalts the mother of Jesus to a placebesideor
aboveher divine Son. We need
have no sympathy whatever with the Roman Catholic heresy which ascribesworship
to the Virgin Mary, and teaches that the Son on his throne must be
approached by mortals through his more merciful, more gentle-hearted mother. But
we need not let these errors concerning Mary obscure the real blessedness of her
character. We remember the angel's greeting, "Blessed are you among women." Hers
surely was the highest honor ever conferred upon any woman!

We know
how other men, men of genius, rarely ever have failed to give to their mothers
the honor of whatever of greatness or worth they had attained. But somehow we
shrink from saying that Jesus wasinfluencedby
his mother, as other good men have been; that he got from her much of the beauty
and the power of his life. We are apt to fancy that his mother was not to him,
what mothers ordinarily are to their children; that he did not need mothering as
other children do; that by reason of his Deity, his character unfolded from
within, without the aid ofhome
teachingand training, and the
other educational influences which do so much inshaping
the characterof children in
common homes.

But there
is no Scriptural ground for this feeling. The humanity of Jesus was just like
our humanity. He came into the world just asfeebleand
asuntaughtas
any other child that ever was born. No mother was ever more to her infant, than
Mary was to Jesus. She taught him all his first lessons. She gave him his first
thoughts about God, and from her lips he learned the first lispings of prayer.
Jewish mothers cared very tenderly for their children. They taught them with
unwearying patience, the Words of God. One of the rabbis said, "God could not be
everywhere, and therefore he made mothers." This saying shows how sacred was the
Jewish thought of the mother's work for her child.

Every
true mother feels a sense of awe in her soul, when she bends over her own infant
child; but in the case of Mary we may be sure that the awe was unusual, because
of the mystery of the child's birth. In the annunciation the angel had said to
her, "The holy One to be born, will be called the Son of God." Luke 1:35. Then
the night of her child's birth, there was a wondrous vision of angels, and the
shepherds who beheld it hastened into the town; and as they looked upon the baby
in the manger, they told the wondering mother what they had seen and heard. We
are told that Mary kept all these things, pondering them in her heart. While she
could not understand what all this meant, she knew at least that hers wasno
common child; that in some wonderful sense he was the Son of God!

This
consciousness must have given to her motherhood an unusual thoughtfulness and
seriousness. How close to God she must have lived! How deep and tender her love
must have been! How pure and clean her heart must have been kept! How sweet and
patient she must have been as she moved about at her tasks, in order that no
harsh or bitter thought or feeling might ever cast a shadow upon theholy
lifewhich had been entrusted to
her for training and molding.

Only a
few times is theveil liftedto
give us a glimpse of mother and child. On the fortieth day he was taken to the
temple, and given to God. Then it was, that another reminder of the glory of
this child was given to the mother. An old man, Simeon, took the infant in his
arms, and spoke of him asGod's
salvation. As he gave the parents his parting blessing he lifted the veil,
and showed them a glimmering of the future. "This child is set for the fall and
rising again of many in Israel; and for a sign which shall be spoken against."
Then to the mother he said solemnly, "Yes, a sword shall pierce through your own
soul also!" This was a foretelling of the sorrow which should come to the heart
of Mary—and which came again and again, until at last she saw her son on a
cross! Theshadow of the crossrested
on Mary's soul all the years. Every time she rocked her baby to sleep, and laid
him down softly, covering his face with kisses, there would come into her heart
a pang as she remembered Simeon's words. Perhaps, too, words from the old
prophets would come into her mind, "He is despised and rejected by men; a man of
sorrows;" "He was bruised for our iniquities," —and the tears would come welling
into her eyes. Every time she saw her child at play, full of gladness, all
unconscious of any sorrow awaiting him, a nameless fear would steal over her as
she remembered theominous wordswhich
had fallen upon her ear, and which she could not forget.

Soon
after the presentation in the temple, came thevisit
of the magi. Again the mother must have wondered as she heard these
strangers from the East speak of her infant boy as the "King of the Jews," and
saw them falling down before him in reverent worship, and then laying their
offerings at his feet.

Immediately following this, came theflight
into Egypt. How the mother must have pressed her child to her bosom as she
fled with him to escape the cruel danger! By and by they returned, and from that
timeNazarethwas
their home.

Only once
in the thirty years, do we have a glimpse of mother and child. It was when Jesus
went to his first Passover. When the time came for returning home, the child
tarried behind. After a painful search the mother found him in one of the
porches of the temple, sitting with the rabbis, an eager learner. There is a
tone of reproach in her words, "Son, why have you thus dealt with us? Behold,
your father and I have sought you sorrowing." She was sorely perplexed. All the
years before this, her son had implicitly obeyed her. He had never resisted her
will, never withdrawn from her guidance. Now he had done something without
asking her about it—as it were, had taken his life into his own hand. It was a
critical point in the friendship of this mother and her child. It is a critical
moment in the friendship of any mother and her child—when the child begins to
think and act for himself, to do things without the mother's guidance.

The
answer of Jesus is instructive: "I must be about my Father's business." There
was another besides his mother, to whom he owed allegiance. He was the Son ofGod—as
well as the son ofMary.
Parents should remember this always in dealing with their children—their
children are more God's than theirs.

It is
interesting to notice what follows that remarkable experience of mother and
child in the temple. Jesus returned with his mother to the lowly Nazareth
home—andhe was subject to her.
In recognizing his relation to God as his heavenly Father—he did not become any
less the child of his earthly mother. He loved his mother no less—because he
loved God more. Obedience to the Father in heaven—did not lead him to reject the
rule of earthly parenthood. He went back to the quiet home, and for eighteen
years longer, foundhis Father's
business, in the common round of lowly tasks which made up the daily life of
such a home.

It would
be intensely interesting to read the story of mother and son during those
years—but it has not been written for us. They must have been years of wondrous
beauty. Few things in this world are more beautiful than such friendships as one
sometimes sees between mother and son. The boy is more thelover—than
thechild. The two enter into
the closest companionship. A sacred and inviolable intimacy is formed between
them. The boy opens all his heart to his mother, telling her everything; and
she, happy woman, knows how to be a boy's mother and to keep a mother's place
without ever startling or checking the shy confidences, or causing him to desire
to hide anything from her. The boy whispers his inmost thoughts to his mother,
and listens to her wise and gentle counsels with loving eagerness and childish
faith.

Not
always are mother and boy such friends. Some mothers do not think it worth while
to give the time and thought necessary to enter into a boy's life, in such
confidential way. But we may be sure that between the mother of Jesus and her
son—the most tender and intimate friendship existed. He opened his soul to her;
and she gave him not a mother's love only—but also a mother's wise counsel and
strong, inspiring sympathy.

It is
almost certain thatsorrowentered
the Nazareth home soon after the visit to Jerusalem.Josephis
not mentioned again; and it is supposed that he died, leaving Mary a widow. On
Jesus, as the eldest son, the care of the mother now rested. Knowing the deep
love of his heart and his wondrous gentleness, it is easy for us to understand
with what unselfish devotion he cared for his mother after she was widowed. He
had learned the carpenter's trade; and day after day, early and late, he worked
with his hands to provide for the family needs. Very sacred must have been the
friendship of mother and son in those days. Her gentleness, quietness,
hopefulness, humility, and prayerfulness, must have wrought themselves into the
very core of his character as he moved through the days in such closeness. Unto
the end, he carried in his soul the blessings of his mother's life.

Thethirty
silent years of preparationclosed,
and Jesus went out to begin hispublic
ministry. The first glimpse we have of the mother is at the wedding at Cana.
Jesus was there too. The wine ran out, and Mary went to Jesus about the matter.
"They have no wine," she said. Evidently she was expecting some manifesting of
supernatural power. All the years since his birth, she had been carrying in her
heart a great wonder of expectation. Now he had been baptized, and had entered
upon his public work as the Messiah. Had not the time come for miracle-working?

The
answer of Jesus startles us: "Woman, what have I to do with you? My hour has not
yet come." The words seem to have in them a tone ofreproof,
or ofrepulse, unlike the
words of so gentle and loving a son. But really there is in his reply, nothing
inconsistent with all that we have learned to think of the gentleness and
lovingness of the heart of Jesus. In substance he said only that he must wait
for his Father's word before doing any miracle, and that the time for this had
not yet come. Evidently his mother understood him. She was not hurt by his
words, nor did she regard them as a refusal to help in the emergency. Her words
to the servants show this: "Whatever he says unto you—do it." She had learned
her lesson of sweet humility. She knew now that God had the highest claim on her
son's obedience, and she quietly waited for the divine voice. The holy
friendship was not marred.

There is
another long period in which no mention is made of Mary. Probably she lived a
secluded life. But one day at Capernaum, in the midst of his popularity, when
Jesus was preaching to a great crowd, she and his brothers appeared on the
outside of the throng, and sent a request that they might speak with him. It
seems almost certain that the mother's errand was to try to get him away from
his exhausting work; he was imperiling his health and his safety.

Jesus
refused to be interrupted. But it was really only an assertion that nothing must
come between him and his duty. The Father's business always comes first. Human
ties are second to the bond which binds us to God. No dishonor was done by Jesus
to his mother—in refusing to be drawn away by her loving interest from his work.
The holiest human friendship must never keep us from doing the will of God.
Other mothers in their love for their children, have made the same mistake that
the mother of Jesus made—have tried to withhold or withdraw their children from
service which seemed too hard or too costly. The voice of tenderest love must be
quenched, when it would keep us from doing God's will.

The next
mention of the mother of Jesus, is in the story ofthe
cross. Ah, holy mother-love, constant and faithful to the end! At length
Simeon's prophecy is fulfilled—a sword is piercing the mother's soul also.
"Jesus was crucified on the cross; Mary was crucified at the foot of the cross."

Note only
one feature of the scene—themother-lovethere
is in it. The story of clinging mother-love is a wonderful one. A mother never
forsakes her child. Mary is not the only mother who has followed a son to a
cross. Here we have the culmination of this mother's friendship for her son. She
is watching beside his cross. O friendship constant, faithful, undying, and
true!

But what
of the friendship of the dying son for his mother? In his own anguish does he
notice her! Yes—one of theseven
sayingsspoken while he hung on
the cross—told of changeless love in his heart for her. Mary was a woman of more
than fifty, "with years before her too many for remembering, too few for
forgetting." The world would be desolate for her when her son was gone. So he
madeprovisionfor
her in the shelter of a love in which he knew she would be safe. As he saw her
led away by the beloved disciple to his own home, part of the pain of dying was
gone from his own heart. His mother would have tender care.

The story
of this blessed friendship should sweeten forever in Christian homes, the
relation of mother and child. It should make every mother—a better woman and a
better mother. It should make every child—a truer, holier child. Every home
should have its sacred friendships between parents and children.

3.
Jesus and His FORERUNNER

Thetwo
Johnsappear in many devotional
pictures, one on each side of Jesus. Yet the two men were vastly unlike. TheBaptistwas
a wild, rugged man of the desert; the apostlewas
the representative of the highest type of gentleness and spiritual refinement.
The former was the consummate flower of Old Testament prophecy; the latter was
the ripe fruit of New Testament evangelism. They appear in history one really on
each side of Jesus; one goingbeforehim
to prepare the way for him, and the other comingafterhim
to declare the meaning of his mission. They were united in Jesus; both of them
were his friends.

It seems
probable that Jesus and the Baptist had never met until the day Jesus came to be
baptized. This is not to be wondered at. Their childhood homes were not near to
each other. Besides, John probably turned away at an early age from the abodes
of men—to make his home in the desert. He may never have visited Jesus, and it
is not unlikely that Jesus had never visited him.

Yet their
mothers are said to have been cousins. The stories of theirbirthsare
woven together in an exquisite way, in the opening chapters of the Gospels. To
the same high angel fell the privilege of announcing to the two women, in turn,
the tidings which in each case meant so much of honor and blessedness. It would
have seemed natural for the boys to grow up together, their lives blending in
childhood association and affection. It is interesting to think what the effect
would have been upon the characters of both if they had been reared in close
companionship. How would John's stern, rugged, unsocial nature—have affected the
gentle spirit of Jesus? What impression would the brightness, sweetness, and
affectionateness of Jesus—have made on the temper and disposition of John?

When at
last the two men met, it is evident that a remarkable effect was produced on
John. There was something in theface
of Jesusthat almost overpowered
the fearless preacher of the desert. John had been waiting and watching for the
Coming One, whose herald and harbinger he was. One day he came and asked to be
baptized. John had never before hesitated to administer the rite to anyone who
stood before him; for in everyone he saw asinnerneeding
repentance and remission of sins. But he who now stood before him waiting to be
baptized, bore upon his face the light of an inner holiness which awed the
rugged preacher. "I have need to be baptized by you!" said John; but Jesus
insisted, and the rite was administered. John's awe must have been deepened by
what then took place. Jesus looked up in earnest prayer, and then from the open
heaven, awhite dovedescended,
resting on the head of the Holy One. A divine voice was heard also, declaring
that this Jesus was the Son of God.

Thus it
was, that the friendship between Jesus and the Baptist began. It was a wonderful
moment. For centuries, prophets had been pointing forward to the Messiah who was
to come; now John saw him. He had baptized him, thus introducing him to his
great mission. This made John thegreatest
of the prophets; he actuallysawthe
Messiah—whom his predecessors had onlyforetold.
John's rugged nature must have been wondrously softened by this meeting with
Jesus.

Brief was
the duration of the friendship of the forerunner and the Messiah; but there are
evidences that it was strong, deep and true. There were several occasions on
which this friendship proved its sincerity and its loyalty.

Reports
of the preaching of John, and of the throngs who were flocking to him, reached
Jerusalem; and a deputation was sent by the Sanhedrin to the desert to ask him
who he was. They had begun to think that this man who was attracting such
attention, might be the Messiah for whom they were looking. But John was careful
to say that he was not the Christ. "Are you Elijah? . . . Are you that prophet?"
He answered "No!" "Who are you, then?" they asked, "that we may give an answer
to those who sent us. What say you of yourself?"

This gave
John an opportunity to claim the highest honor for himself, if he had been
disposed to do so. He might have admitted that he was the Messiah, or quietly
permitted the impression to be nourished; and in the state of feeling and
expectation then prevailing among the people, there would have been a great
uprising to carry him to a throne. But his loyalty to truth and to the Messiah
whose forerunner he was, was so strong—that he firmly resisted the opportunity,
with whatever of temptation it may have had for him. "I am only a voice," he
answered—nothing but 'a voice'. Thus he showed an element ofgreatness—in
hislowly estimateof
himself.

True, 'a
voice' may do great things. It may speak words which shall ring through the
world with a blessing in every reverberation. It may arouse men to action, may
comfort sorrow, cheer discouragement, start hope in despairing hearts. If one is
'only a voice', and if there is truth and love and life in the voice—its
ministry may be rich in its influence.

Much of
the Bible is but 'a voice' coming out of the depths of the past. No one knows
the names of all the holy men who, moved by the Spirit, wrote the wonderful
words. Many of the sweetest of the Psalms are anonymous. Yet no one prizes the
words less, nor is their power to comfort, cheer, inspire, or quicken any
less—because they areonly voices.
After all, it is a great thing to be a voice to which men and women will listen,
and whose words do good wherever they go.

Yet
John's speaking thus of himself, shows his humility. He sought no earthly praise
or recognition. He was not eager to have his name sounding on people's lips. He
knew well how empty such honor was. He wished only that he might be 'a voice',
speaking out the word he had been sent into the world to speak. He knew that he
had a message to deliver, and he was intent on delivering it. It mattered not
who or what he was—but it did matter whether his "word or two" were spoken
faithfully or not.

Every one
of us has amessage from God to
men.We are in this world for a
purpose, with a mission, with something definite to do for God and man. It makes
very little difference whether people hear aboutUSor
not—whetherWEare
praised, loved, and honored, or despised, hated, and rejected. It only matters,
that we get our word spoken into the air, and set going in men's hearts and
lives. John was a worthy voice, and his tones rang out with clarion clearness
for truth and for God's kingdom. It was his mission to go inadvanceof
the King, and tell men that he was coming, calling them to prepare the way
before him. This he did; and when the King came—John's work was done.

The
deputation asked him also why he was baptizing, if he was neither the Christ nor
Elijah. Again John honored his friend by saying, "I baptize with water. Someone
stands among you, but you do not know Him. He is the One coming after me, whose
sandal strap I am not worthy to untie!" John set the pattern for friendship for
Christ for all time. It is, "None of SELF—and all of JESUS!"

It is
pitiable to see how some among the Master's followers fail to learn this lesson.
They contend for high places, wheretheymay
have prominence among men, where their namesshall
have honor. The only truly great in Christ's sight—are those who forgetSELF,that
they may honor their Lord, John said he was not worthy to untie the sandal strap
of his friend—so great, so kingly, so worthy was that friend. He said that his
own work was onlyexternal,
while the One standing unrecognized among the people—had power to reach theirhearts.
It were well if every follower of Christ understood so perfectly—the place of
his own work with relation to Christ's.

Another
of John's testimonies to Jesus was made a little later, perhaps as Jesus
returned after his temptation. Pointing to a young man who was approaching, he
said, "Behold the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!" It was a
high honor which in these words John gave to his friend. That friend was the
bearer of the world's sin and of its sorrow. It is not likely that at this early
stage, John knew of the crosson
which Jesus should die for sinners. In some way, however, he saw a vision ofJesus
saving his people from their sin—and so proclaimed him to the circle that
stood round him. He proclaimed him also as the Son of God, thus adding yet
another honor to his friend.

A day or
two later, John again pointed Jesus out to two of his own disciples asthe
Lamb of God, and then bade them leave him—and follow after the Messiah. This
is another mark of John's noble friendship for Jesus—he gave up his own
disciples—that they might go after the new Master. It is not easy to do this. It
takes a brave man to send his helpful friends away—that they may give their love
and service to another master.

There is
further illustration of John's loyal friendship for Jesus. It seems that John's
disciples were somewhatjealousof
the growing fame and influence of Jesus. The throngs that followed their master
were now turning after thenew
teacher. In their great love for John, and remembering how he had witnessed
for Jesus, and called attention to him, before he began his ministry and
after—they felt that it was scarcely right that Jesus should rise to prosperity,
at the expense of him who had so helped him rise. If John had been less noble
than he was, and his friendship for Jesus less loyal—such words from his
followers would haveembitteredhim.
There are people who do irreparable hurt, by suchflattering
sympathy. Aspark of envyis
often fanned into a disastrous flame—by friends who come with such appeals to
theevil of envy, that is in
the heart of every man.

But
John's answer shows a soul of wondrous nobleness. He had not been hurt by
popularity, as so many men are. Not all godly people pass through times of great
success, with its attendant elation and adulation—and come out simple-hearted
and humble. Then even a severer test of character is the time ofwaning
favor—when the crowds melt away, and when another is receiving the applause.
Many a man, in such an experience, fails to retain sweetness of spirit, and
becomes soured and embittered.

John
stood both tests.Popularitydid
not make him vain. The losing of hisfame—did
not embitter him. He kept humble and sweet through it all. The secret was his
unwavering loyalty to his own mission, as the harbinger of the Messiah. "A man
can receive nothing, except it is given him from heaven," he said. The power
over men which he had wielded for a time—had beengivento
John. Now the power had been withdrawn, and given to Jesus. It was all
right, and he would not complain of what God had done.

Then John
reminded his friends that he had distinctly said, that he was not the Christ—but
wasonly one sent before him.
In a wondrously expressive way he explained his relation to Jesus. Jesus was thebridegroom,
and John was only thebridegroom's
friend, and he rejoiced in the bridegroom's honor! It was fit that thebridegroom
should have the honor, and that hisfriendshould
retire into the background, and there be forgotten. Thus John showed his loyalty
to Jesus—by rejoicing in his popular favor, when the effect was to leave John
himself deserted and alone after a season of great fame. "He must increase—but I
must decrease," said the noble-hearted forerunner. John's work was done, and the
work of Jesus was now beginning. John understood this, and with devoted loyalty,
unsurpassed in all the bright story of friendship, he rejoiced in the
success that Jesus was winning, though it was at his own cost!

This is amodel
of noble friendshipfor all time.ENVYpoisons
much human friendship. It is not easy to work loyally for the honor and
advancement of another—when he is takingour
place, and drawingour crowdsafter
him. But in any circumstances, envy is despicable and most undivine! Then even
in our friendship for Christ we need to be ever most watchful, lest we allowSELFto
creep in. We must learn to care only for his honor and the advancement of his
kingdom, and never to think of ourselves, our honor and advancement.

So much
for the friendship ofJohnfor
Jesus. On several occasions we find evidences of very warm friendship inJesusfor
John. John's imprisonment was a most pathetic episode in his life. It came
because of his fidelity as a preacher of righteousness. In view of all the
circumstances, we can scarcely wonder that in his dreary prison he began almost
to doubt, certainly to question, whether Jesus were indeed the Messiah. But it
must be noted that even in this painful experience, John wasloyalto
Jesus! When the question arose in his mind, he sent directly to Jesus to have it
answered. If only all in whose minds spiritual doubts or questions arise would
do this—good, and not evil, would result in every case; for Christ always knows
how to reassure perplexed faith.

It was
after the visit of the messengers from John—that Jesus spoke the strong words
which showed his warm friendship for his forerunner. John had not forfeited his
place in the Master's heart, by histemporary
doubting. Jesus knew that his disciples might think disparagingly of John,
because he had sent the messengers with the question; and as soon as they were
gone—Jesus began to speak about John, and to speak about him in terms of highest
praise. It is an evidence of true friendship, that one speaks well of one's
friend behind his back. Some professed friendship will not stand this test. But
Jesus spoke not a word ofcensureconcerning
John, after the failure of his faith.

On the
other hand, he eulogized him in a most remarkable way. He spoke of his stability
and firmness; John was not areed
shakenwith the wind, he was not
aself-indulgentman,
courting ease and loving luxury; he was a man ready for any self-denial and
hardship. Jesus added to this eulogy of John's qualities as a man—the statement
thatno greater soul than his had
ever been born in this world. This was high praise indeed. It illustrates
theloyalty of Jesus—to the
friend who had so honored him and was suffering now because of faithfulness to
Jesus, truth and duty.

There is
another incident which shows how much Jesus loved John. It was after the foul
murder of the Baptist. The record is very brief. The friends of the dead prophet
gathered in the prison, and, taking up theheadless
bodyof their master, they
carried it away to a reverent, tearful burial. Then they went and told Jesus.
The narrative says, "When Jesus heard what had happened, he withdrew by boat
privately to a solitary place." His sorrow at the tragic death of his faithful
friend made him wish to be alone. When the Jews saw Jesusweepingbeside
the grave of Lazarus they said, "Behold how he loved him!" No mention is made of
tears when Jesus heard of the death of John; but he immediately sought to break
away from the crowds, to be alone, and there is little doubt that when he was
alone—he wept. He loved John, and sincerely grieved over his death.

The story
of the friendship of Jesus and John the Baptist is very beautiful. John's
loyalty and faithfulness, must have brought real comfort to Jesus. Then to John,
the friendship of Jesus must have been full of cheer.

As we
read the story of the Baptist's life, with its tragic ending, we are apt to feel
thathe died too soon. He
began his public work with every promise of success. For a few months he
preached with great power, and thousands flocked to hear him. Then came the
waning of his popularity, and soon he was shut up in a prison, and in a little
while he was cruelly murdered to humor the whim of a wicked and vengeful woman!

Was it
worth while to be born, and to go through years of severe training, only for
such afragment of living? To
this question we can only answer—that John had finished his work. He came into
the world—a man sent from God—to do just one definite thing—to prepare the way
for the Messiah. When the Messiah had come, John's work was done. As the friend
of Christ—he went home; and elsewhere now, in other realms perhaps, he is still
serving his Lord.

4.
Jesus' Conditions of Friendship

Every
thoughtful reader of the Gospels, notes two seemingly opposing characteristics
ofChrist's invitations—theirwidenessand
theirnarrowness. They were
broad enough to include all men; yet by theirconditions,they
were so narrowed down that only a fewseemed
able to accept them.

The
gospel was for the world. It was as broad as the love of God—and that is
absolutely without limit. God loved the world. When Jesus went forth among
men—his heart was open to all. He was the patron of no particular class. For him
there were nooutcastswhom
he might not touch, with whom he might not speak in public, or privately, or who
were excluded from the privileges of friendship with him. He spoke of himself as
the Son ofman—not the son ofaman—but
the Son ofman, and therefore
the brother of every man. Whoever bore the image of humanity, had a place in his
heart. Wherever he found a human need, it had an instant claim on his sympathy,
and he was eager to impart a blessing. No man had fallen so low in sin—that
Jesus passed him by without love and compassion. To be a man—was the passport
to his heart!

Theinvitationswhich
Jesus gave, all bear the stamp of this exceeding broadness. "Come unto me,allyou
who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." "Him thatcomesto
me I will never cast out." "If any manthirsts—let
him come unto me, and drink." Such words as these were ever falling from his
lips. No man or woman, hearing these invitations, could ever say, "There is
nothing there for me!" There was no hint of possibleexclusionfor
anyone. Not a word was ever said about any particular class of people who might
come—the upright, the respectable, the cultured, the unsoiled, the well-born,
the well-to-do. Jesus had no such words in his vocabulary. Whoever labored and
was heavy laden, was invited. Whoever would come,would
be received—would never be cast out. Whoever wasthirsty,was
bidden to come and drink.

Some
teachers are not so good as their teachings. They proclaim the love of God for
every man, and then make distinctions intheir
treatmentof men. Professing love
for all, they gather their skirts close about them, whenfallen
onespass by. But Jesus lived out
all of the love of God, that he taught. It was literally true in his case, that
not one who came to him—was ever cast out. He disregarded theproprieties
of righteousnesswhich the
religious teachers of his own people had formulated and fixed. They read in the
synagogue services, "You shall love yourneighboras
yourself," but they limited the wordneighboruntil
it included only the circle of the socially and spiritually elite! Jesus taught
that a man's neighbor—is a fellow-man in need,whoeverhe
may be. Then, when the lost and the outcast came to him—they found thelove
of God indeed incarnatein him.

At one
time we read that all the publicans and sinners drew near unto him to hear him.
The Jewish religious teachers found sore fault with him, saying, "This man
receives sinners, and eveneatswith
them!" But he vindicated his course, by telling them that he had come for the
very purpose ofseeking lost
sinners. On another occasion he said that he was a physician, and that the
physician's mission was not to thewhole—but
to the sick. He had come not to call therighteous—butsinners,
to repentance.

A
detestable and sinful woman, having heard his gracious invitation, "Come unto
me, all you who labor and are heavy laden," came to his feet, at once putting
his preaching to the test. She came weeping, and, falling at his feet, wet them
with her tears, and then wiped them with her disheveled hair and kissed them.
Then she took an alabaster jar, and breaking it—poured the ointment on his feet.
It was a violation of all theJewish
proprieties, to permit such a woman to stay at his feet, making such
demonstrations. A Jewish rabbi would have thrust her away with execrations, as
bringing pollution in her touch. But Jesus let the woman stay and finish heract
of penitence and love, and then spoke words which assured her of forgiveness
and peace.

"She sat and
wept, and with her untressed hair
Still wiped the feet she was so blessed to touch;
And he wiped off the soiling of despair
From her sweet soul, because she loved so much."

This is
but one of the many proofs in Jesus' life, of the sincerity of thewide
invitationshe gave. Continually
thelostandfallencame
to him, for there was something in him that made it easy for them to come and
tell him all the burden of their sin—and their yearning for a better life. Even
one whom he afterward chose as an apostle, was ahated
publicanwhen Jesus called him to
be his disciple. He took him in among his friends, into his own inner household;
and now his name is on one of the foundations of the heavenly city, as an
'apostle of the Lamb'.

Thus we
see how broad was the love of Christ, both in word and in act. Toward every
human life his heart yearned. He had a blessing to bestow upon every soul.
Whoever would, might be a friend of Jesus, and come in among those who stood
closest to him. Not one was shut out.

Then,
there is another class of words which appear tolimitthese
wide invitations and this gracious love. Again and again Jesus seems todiscourage discipleship. When men would come, he bids them
consider and count the cost before they decide. One passage tells of three
aspirants for discipleship, for all of whom he seems to have made it hard to
follow him.

One man
came to him, and withglib and
easy professionsaid, "I will
follow you wherever you go." This seemed all that could have been asked. No man
could do more. Yet Jesus discouraged this ardent scribe. He saw that he did not
realize what he was saying, that he had not counted the cost, and that his
devotion would fail in the face of the hardship and self-denial which
discipleship would involve. So he answered, "The foxes have holes, and the birds
of the air have nests; but the Son of man has nowhere to lay his head." That is,
he painted a picture of his own poverty and homelessness, as if to say, "That is
what it will mean foryouto
follow me; are you ready for it?"

Then
Jesus turned to another, and said to him, "Follow me." But this man asked for
time. "Lord, allow me first to go and bury my father." This seemed a
reasonable request.Filial dutiesstand
high in all inspired teaching. Yet Jesus said, "No! leave the dead to bury their
own dead; but you go and publish abroad the kingdom of God." Discipleship seems
severe in its demands—if even a sacred duty of love to a father must be
foregone, that the man might go instantly to his work as a missionary.

There was
a third case. Another man, overhearing what had been said, proposed also to
become a disciple—butnot yet.
"I will follow you; but first allow me to bid farewell to them that are at my
house." That, too, appeared only a fit thing to do; but again the answer seems
stern and severe. "No man, having put his hand to the plough, and looking back,
is fit for the kingdom of God." Even the privilege of running home to say
"Good-by" must be denied to him who follows Jesus.

These
incidents show, not that Jesus would make it hard and costly for men to be his
disciples—but that discipleship must be unconditional, whatever the cost, and
that even the holiest duties of human love must be made secondary to the work of
Christ's kingdom.

Another
marked instance of like teaching was in the case of the young ruler who wanted
to know the way of life. We try to make it easy for inquirers to begin to follow
Christ—but Jesus set a hard task for this rich young man. He must give up all
his wealth, and come empty-handed with the new Master. Why did he so discourage
this earnest seeker? He saw into his heart, and perceived that he could not be a
true disciple, unless he first won a victory over himself. The issue was his
money or Jesus—which would he choose? The way was made so hard that for that
day, at least, that the young man turned away, clutching his money—and leaving
Jesus.

Really, a
similar test was made in every discipleship. Those who followed him left all,
and went empty-handed with him. They were required togive
upfather and mother, and wife
and children, and lands—and totake
up their crossand follow him.

Why were
the broad invitations of the heart of Jesus—so narrowed in their practical
application? The answer is very simple. Jesus was the revealing of God—God
manifest in the flesh. He had come into this world not merely to heal a few sick
people, to bring back joy to a few darkened homes by the restoring of their
dead, to formulate a system of moral and ethical teachings, to start a wave of
kindliness and a ministry of mercy and love; he had come to save a lost world,
to lift men up out of sinfulness, into holiness.

There was
only one way to do this—men must be brought back into loyalty to God. Jesus
astonishes us—by the tremendous claims and demands which He makes. He says that
men must come unto Him—if they would find rest; that they must believe on Him—if
they would have everlasting life; that they must love Him more than any human
friend; that they must obey Him with absolute, unquestioning obedience; that
they must follow Him as the supreme and only guide of their life, committing all
their present and eternal interests into His hands. In a word, he puts himself
deliberately into the place of God, demanding for himself all that God demands,
and then promising to those who accept him—all the blessings that God promises
to his children.

This was
the way Jesus sought to save men. As thehuman
revealing of God, coming down to humanity, and thus bringing God within
their reach. He said, "Believe on Me, love Me, trust Me, and follow Me—and I
will lift you up to eternal blessedness." While the invitation was universal,
the blessings it offered could be given only to those who would truly receive
Christ as their Lord and Savior. If Jesus seemed to demand hard things of those
who would follow Him, it was because in no other way could men be saved. No
slight and easy profession would bind them to Him, and only by their attachment
to Him could they be led into the kingdom of God. If He sometimes seemed to
discourage discipleship, it was that no one might be deceived as to the meaning
of the new life to which Jesus was inviting men. He would have no followers, who
did not first count the cost, and know whether they were ready to follow Him
fully. Men could be lifted up into a heavenly life, only by a friendship with
Jesus, which would prove stronger than all other ties.

Piety,
therefore, is a passion for Christ. "I have only one passion," said Zinzendorf,
"and that is Jesus."Love for
Christis the power that during
these nineteen centuries has been transforming the world. Law could never have
done it, though enforced by the most solemn majesty. The most perfect moral
code, though proclaimed with supreme authority, would never have changed
darkness to light, cruelty to humaneness, crudeness to gentleness. What is it
that gives the gospel its resistless power? It is the Person at the heart of it.
Men are not called to a religion, to a creed, to a code of ethics, to an
ecclesiastical system—they are called to love and follow a Person.

But what
is it in Jesus—that so draws men, that wins their allegiance away from every
other master, that makes them ready to leave all for his sake, and to follow him
through peril and sacrifice, even to death? Is it his wonderfulteaching?
"No man ever spoke like this man!" Is it hispoweras
revealed in his miracles? Is it hissinlessness?
The most malignant scrutiny could find no fault in him. Is it the perfect beauty
of his character? Not one, nor all of these—will account for the
wonderful attraction of Jesus. His love is the secret. He came into the world to
reveal the love of God—he was the love of God in human flesh. His life was all
love. In a most wonderful way during all his life—did he reveal love. Men saw it
in hisface, and felt it in
histouch, and heard it in hisvoice.
This was the great fact which his disciples felt in his life. His friendship was
unlike any friendship they had ever seen before, or even dreamed of. It was this
which drew them to him, and made them love him so deeply, so tenderly. Nothing
but love—will kindle love. Power will not do it. Holiness will not do it. Gifts
will not do it—men will take your gifts, and then repay you with hatred. But
love begets love; heart responds to heart. Jesus loved. "Having loved His own
who were in the world, He loved them to the end!" John 13:1. "Greater love has
no one than this—that he lay down his life for his friends!" John 15:13.

But the
love he revealed in his life, in his tender friendship, was not the most supreme
manifesting of his love. He crowned it all by giving his life! "I am the Good
Shepherd—the Good Shepherd gives his life for the sheep." This was the most
wonderful exhibition of love, that the world had ever seen. Now and then some
one had been willing to die for a choice and prized friend; but Jesus died for
his enemies! It was not for the beloved disciple and for the brave Peter that he
gave his life—then we might have understood it—but it was for the race of sinful
men that he poured out his most precious blood—the blood of eternal redemption.
It is this marvelous love in Jesus—which attracts men to him. His life, and
especially his cross, declares to everyone: "God loves you. The Son of God gave
himself for you."

Jesus
himself explained the wonderful secret in his words: "If I be lifted up from the
earth—I will draw all men unto me." It is on his cross that his marvelous power
is most surpassingly revealed. The secret of the attraction of the cross is
love! "The Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me!" Galatians 2:20

Thus we
find hints of what Jesus is as a friend—and what he was to his first disciples,
that he is today. His is perfect friendship. The best and richest human
friendships, are only little fragments of the perfect ideal. Even these we prize
as the dearest things on earth. They are more precious than rarest gems. We
would lose all other things—rather than give up our friends. They bring to us
deep joys, sweet comforts, holy inspirations. Life without friendship, would be
empty and lonely. Love is indeed the greatest thing. Nothing else in all the
world, will fill and satisfy the heart. Evenearth's
friendships are priceless. Yet the best and truest of them are onlyfragmentsof
the perfect friendship. They bring us onlylittle
cupfulsof blessing. Their
gentleness is marred by human infirmity, and sometimes turns to harshness. Their
helpfulness at best is impulsive and uncertain, and ofttimes is inopportune and
ill-timed.

But the
friendship of Jesus is perfect. Its touch is always gentle, and full of healing.
Its helpfulness is always wise. Its tenderness is like the warmth of a heavenly
summer, brooding over the life which accepts it. All the love of God pours forth
in the friendship of Jesus. To be his beloved, is to be held in the clasp of the
everlasting arms. "I and my Father are one," said Jesus; his friendship,
therefore, is the friendship of the Father. Those who accept it in truth—find
their lives flooded with a wealth of blessing.

Creedshave
their place in the Christian life; their articles are the greatframework
of truthabout which the fabric
rises and from which it receives its strength.Worshipis
important, if it is vitalized by faith and the Holy Spirit.Riteshave
their sacred value as the channels through which divine grace is communicated.
But that which is vital in all spiritual life—is the friendship of Jesus, coming
to us in whatever form it may. To know the love of Christ which passes
knowledge, isliving religion.
Creeds and services and rites and sacraments bring blessing to us—only as they
interpret to us this love, and draw us into closer personal relations with
Christ.

True
friendship with Jesus, takes our poor earthly lives, and lifts them up out of
the dust—into beauty and blessedness. It changes everything for us. It makes us
children of God in a real and living sense. It brings us into fellowship with
all that is holy and true. It kindles in us a friendship for Christ, turning all
the tides of our life into new and holy channels. It thus transforms us into the
likeness of our Friend, whose we are, and whom we serve!

Thus
Jesus is saving the world—by renewing men's lives. He is setting up the kingdom
of heaven on the earth. His subjects are won, not by force of arms, not by a
display of Sinaitic terrors—but by the force of love. Men are taught that God
loves them; they see that love first in the life of Jesus, then on his cross,
where he died as the Lamb of God, bearing the sin of his people. Under the
mighty sway of that love—they yield their hearts toheaven's
King. Thuslove's conquestsare
going on. The friendship of Jesus is changing earth's sin and evil—into heaven's
holiness and beauty.

5.
Jesus Choosing His Friends

Nothing
in life is more important, than thechoosing
of friends. Many young people wreck all, by wrong choices, taking into their
life those who by their influence, drag them down. Many a man's moral failure,
dates from the day he chose a wrong friend. Many a woman's life of sorrow or
evil, began with the letting into her heart of an unworthy friendship. On the
other hand, many a career of happiness, of prosperity, of success, of upward
climbing—may be traced to the choice of a pure, noble, rich-hearted, inspiring
friend.

Mrs.
Browning asked Charles Kingsley, "What is the secret of your life? Tell me, that
I may make mine beautiful too." He replied, "I had a noble friend." There are
many who have reached eminence of character or splendor of life—who could give
the same answer. They had a friend who came into their life at the right time,
sent from God, and inspired in them whatever is beautiful in their character,
whatever is worthy and noble in their career.

We may
not put our Lord's choice of his apostles on precisely the same plane, as our
selecting of friends; as those men were to be more than ordinary friends; he was
to put his mantle upon them, and they were to be the founders of his Church.
Nevertheless, we may take lessons from the story for ourselves.

Jesus
chose his friendsdeliberately.
His disciples had been gathering about him for months. It was at least a year
after the beginning of his public ministry, that he chose the Twelve. He
had had ample time to get well acquainted with the company of his followers, to
test them, to study their character, to learn their qualities of strength or
weakness.

Many
fatal mistakes in the choosing of friends, come fromhaste.
We would better take time to know our possible friends, and be sure that we know
them well—before making the solemn compact that seals the attachment.

Jesus
made his choice of friends a subject ofprayer.
He spent a whole night in prayer with God—and then came in the morning to choose
his apostles. If Jesus needed thus to pray before choosing his friends—how much
more should we seek God's counsel before taking a new friendship into our life!
We cannot know what it may mean to us, where it may lead us, what sorrow, care,
or pain it may bring to us, what touches ofbeautyor
ofmarringit
may put upon our soul, and we dare not admit it—unless God gives it to us. In
nothing do young people need more the guidance of divine wisdom—than when they
are settling the question ofwho
shall be their friends.

At the
Last Supper, Jesus said in his prayer, referring to his disciples, "Yours they
were, and you gave them to me." It makes a friendship very sacred to be able to
say, "God gave it to me. God sent me this friend."

In
choosing his friends, Jesus thought not chiefly of the comfort and help they
would be to him—but far more of what he might be to them. He did crave
friendship for himself. His heart needed it just as any true human heart does.
He welcomed affection whenever anyone brought the gift to him. He accepted the
friendship of the poor, of the children, of those he helped. We cannot
understand how much the Bethany homewas
to him, with its confidence, its warmth, its shelter, its tender affection. One
of the most pathetic incidents in the whole Gospel story—is the hunger of Jesus
for sympathy in the garden, when he came again and again to his human friends,
hoping to find them alert in watchful love, and found them asleep. It was a cry
of deep disappointment which came from his lips, "Could you not watch with me
for one hour?" Jesus craved the blessing of friendship for himself, and in
choosingthe Twelve,expected
comfort and strength from his fellowship with them.

But his
deepest desire was that he might be a blessing to them. He came "not to be
ministered unto—but to minister;" not tohavefriends—but
tobea
friend. He chose the Twelvethat
he might lift them up to honor and good; that he might purify, refine, and
enrich their lives; that he might prepare them to be his witnesses, the
conservators of his gospel, theinterpretersto
the world of his life and teachings. He sought nothing for himself—but every
breath he drew, was full of unselfish love.

We should
learn from Jesus, that the essential quality in the heart of friendship, is not
the desire tohavefriends—but
the desire toBEa
friend; not to get good and help from others—but toimpartblessing
to others. Many of the sighings for friendship which we have, are merely selfish
longings—a desire for happiness, for pleasure, for the gratification of the
heart, which friends would bring. If the desire were toBEa
friend, to do others good, to serve and to give help—it would be a far more
Christlike longing, and would transform the life and character.

We are
surprised at thekindof
men Jesus chose for his friends. We would suppose that he, the Son of God,
coming from heaven, would have gathered about him as his close and intimate
companions, the most refined and cultivated men of his nation—men of
intelligence, of trained mind, of wide influence. Instead of going to Jerusalem,
however, to choose his apostles from among rabbis, priests, scribes, and
rulers—he selected them from among theplain
people, largely from amongfishermenof
Galilee. One reason for this, was that he must choose these inner friends from
the company which had been drawn to him and were already his followers, in true
sympathy with him; and there were none of the great, the learned, the cultured,
among these. But another reason was, that he cared more forqualities
of the heart—than for rank, position, name, worldly influence, or human
wisdom. He wanted near him, only those who would be of the same mind with him,
and whom he could train into loyal, sympathetic apostles.

Jesus
took these untutored, undisciplined men into his own fellowship, and at once
began to prepare them for their great work. It is worthy of note, that instead
of scattering his teachingsbroadcastamong
the people, so that whoever would might gather up his words, and diffusing his
influence throughout a mass of disciples, while distinctly and definitely
impressing none effectually; Jesus chose twelve men, and concentrated his
influence upon them. He took them into the closest relations to himself, taught
them the great truths of his kingdom, impressed upon them the stamp of his own
life, and breathed into them his own spirit.

We think
of the apostles as great men; they didbecomegreat.
Their influence filled many lands—fills all the world today. They sit on
thrones, judging all the tribes of men. But all that they became, they became
through the friendship of Jesus. He gave them all their greatness. He trained
them until their crudeness grew into refined culture. No doubt he gave much time
to them in private. They were with him continually. They saw all his life.

It was a
high privilege to live with Jesus those three years—eating with him, walking
with him, hearing all his conversations, witnessing his patience, his kindness,
his thoughtfulness. It was almost like living in heaven; for Jesus was God
manifest in the flesh. When Philip said to Jesus, "Lord, show us the Father, and
it suffices us," Jesus answered, "He who has seen me—has seen the Father."
Living with Jesus was, therefore, living with God—his glory tempered by the
gentle humanity in which it was veiled—but no less divine because of this. For
three years the disciples lived with God. No wonder that their lives were
transformed, and that the best that was in them, was wooed out by the blessedsummer
weather of lovein which they
moved.

"He chose
twelve." Probably this was because there were twelve tribes of Israel, and the
number was to be continued. One evangelist says that he sent them outtwo
by two. Whytwo by two?
With all the world to evangelize, would it not have been better if they had gone
out one by one? Then they would have reached twice as many points. Was it not a
waste of force, of power, to sendtwoto
the same place?

No doubt
Jesus had reasons. It would have beenlonelyfor
one man to go by himself. If there were two, one would keep the other company.
There was opposition to the gospel in those days, and it would have been hard
for one to endure persecution alone. The handclasp of a brother would make the
heart braver and stronger. We do not know how much we owe to ourcompanionships,
how they strengthen us, how often we would fail and sink down without them.

Congenial
companionship is wonderfully inspiring. Aloneness is pain. You cannot kindle a
fire with one coal. A log will not burn alone. But put two coals or two logs
side by side, and the fire kindles and blazes and burns hotly. Jesus yoked his
apostles intwos,thatmutual
friendshipmight inspire them
both.

There was
another reason for mating the Twelve. Each of them was only a fragment of a
man—not one of them was full-rounded, a complete man, strong at every point.
Each had astrengthof
his own, with a correspondingweakness.
Then Jesus yoked them together so that each pair—made one good man. The hasty,
impetuous, self-confidentPeter,
needed the counterbalancing of the cautious, conservativeAndrew.
Thomasthe doubter, was
matched byMatthewthe
strong believer. It was not an accidental grouping by which the Twelve fell into
six parts. Jesus knew what was in man; and he yoked these men together in a way
which brought out the best that was in each of them, and by thus blending their
lives, turned their very faults and weaknesses into beauty and strength. He did
not try to make them all alike. He made no effort to have Peter grow quiet and
gentle like John; or Thomas become an enthusiastic, unquestioning believer like
Matthew. He sought for each man's personality, and developed that. He knew that
to try to recast Peter's tremendous energy into staidness and caution—would only
rob him of what was best in his nature. He found room in his apostle family for
as many different types of temperament as there were men, setting thefrailtiesof
one over against the excessivevirtuesof
the other.

It is
interesting to note themethodof
Jesus in training his apostles. The aim of any true friendship, is not to make
life easy for one's friend—but to make something of the friend. That is God's
method. He does not hurry to take away everyburdenunder
which he sees us struggling. He does not instantly answer our prayer for relief,
when we begin to cry to him about thedifficultywe
have, or thetrialwe
are facing, or the sacrificewe
are making. He does not spare us hardship, loss, or pain. He does not want to
make things easy for us—but to make something of us. We grow under burdens. It
is poor, mistaken fathering or mothering, that thinks only of saving a child
from hard tasks or severe discipline. It is weak friendship, that seeks only
pleasure and indulgence for a loved one. "The chief need in life—is somebody who
shall make us do the best we can."

Jesus was
the truest of friends. He never tried to make theburdenlight,
thepath smooth, thestruggleeasy.
He wished to makemenof
his apostles—men who could stand up and face the world; men whose character
would reflect the beauty of holiness in its every line; men in whose hands his
gospel would be safe, when they went out as his ambassadors. He set for each
apostle a high ideal, and then helped them to work up to the ideal. He taught
them that the law of thecross—is
the law of life; that thesavingof
one's life—is thelosingof
it; and that only when weloseour
life, as men rate it, giving it out in love's service—do we reallysaveit.

It is not
easy to make 'a man'. It is said that the violin-makers in distant lands, by
breakingandmendingwith
skillful hands, at last produce instruments having a more wonderful capacity
than ever was possible to them when new, unbroken and whole. Whether this is
true or not ofviolins—it
certainly is true ofhuman lives.
We cannot merely grow into strength, beauty, nobleness, and power of
helpfulness; without discipline, pain, and cost. It is written even of Jesus
himself, that he wasmade perfect
through suffering. There was nosinin
him; but his perfectness as a sympathizing Friend, as a helpful Savior, came
through struggle, trial, pain, and sorrow! Not one of the apostles reached his
royal strength as a man, as a helper of men, as a representative of
Jesus—without enduring loss and suffering. No man who ever rises to a place of
real worth and usefulness in the world, walks on arose-strewn
path. We never can be made fit for anything beautiful and worthy—without
cost of pain and tears.

How about
ourselves? Life is made very real to our thought, when we remember that in all
the experiences of joy and sorrow, pleasure and pain, success and failure,
health and sickness, quiet or struggle—God is makingmenof
us. Then he watches us to see if we fail. Here is a man who is passing through
sore trial. For many months his wife has been a great sufferer. All the while he
has been carrying a heavy burden—a financial burden, a burden of sympathy; for
every moment's pain that his wife has suffered—has been like a sword in his own
heart—burdens of care, with broken nights and weary days. We may be sure of
God's tender interest in the wife who suffers in the sick-room; but his eye is
even more intently fixed upon him who is bearing the burden of sympathy and
care. He is watching to see if the man will stand the test, and grow sweeter
and stronger. Everything hard or painful in a Christian's life—is another
opportunity for him to get a new victory, and become a little more—a man.

It is
remarkable howlittlewe
know about the apostles. A few of them are fairly prominent.PeterandJamesandJohnwe
know quite well, as their names are made familiar in the inspired story.Matthewwe
know by the Gospel he wrote.Thomaswe
remember by his doubts. Of the rest, we know almost nothing but their names.
Indeed, few Bible readers can give even the names of all the Twelve.

No doubt
one reason why no more is told us about the apostles, is that the Bible
magnifies only one name. It is not abook
of biographies—but the book of the Lord Jesus Christ. Each apostle had a
sacred friendship all his own with his Master, a friendship with which no other
could intermeddle. We can imagine the quiet talks, the long walks with the deep
communings, the openings of heart, the confessions of weakness and failure, the
many prayers, together. We may be very sure that through those three wonderful
years, there ran twelve stories of holy friendship, with their blessed
revealings of the Master's heart to the heart of each man. But not a word of all
this is written in the New Testament. It was too sacred to be recorded, for any
eye of earth to read.

We may be
sure, too, that each man of the Twelve did a noble work after the Ascension—but
no pen wrote the narratives for preservation. There are traditions—but there is
in them little that is certainly history. TheBook
of Acts—is not the acts of the apostles. The book tells a little about John,
a little more about Peter, most about Paul, and of the others gives nothing but
a list of their names in the first chapter.

Yet we
need not trouble ourselves about this. It is the same with the good and the
useful in every age. A few names are preserved—but the great multitude are
forgotten. Earth keeps scant record of its benefactors. But there is a place
where every smallest kindness done in the name of Christ, is recorded and
remembered.

Long,
long ages ago—a beautiful fern grew in a deep valley, nodding in the breeze. One
day it fell, complaining as it sank away, that no one would remember its grace
and beauty. The other day a geologist went out with his hammer in the interest
of his science. He struck a rock; and there in the seam, lay the form of a
fern—every leaf, every fibre, the most delicate traceries of the leaves. It was
the fern which ages since grew and dropped into the indistinguishable mass of
vegetation. It perished; but its memorial was preserved, and today is made
manifest.

So it is
with the stories of the obscure apostles, and of all beautiful lives which have
wrought for God and for man—and have vanished from earth. Nothing is lost,
nothing is forgotten. The memorials are in other lives, and some day everytouchand
traceandinfluenceand
impressionwill be revealed.
In the book ofRevelation,we
are told that in the foundations of the heavenly city are thenamesof
the twelve apostles of the Lamb. The New Testament does not tell the story of
their worthy lives—but it is cut deep in the eternal rock, where all eyes shall
see it forever.

On the
lives of these chosen friends, Jesus impressed his own image. His blessed
divine-human friendship transformed them into men who went to the ends of the
world for him, carrying his name. It was a new and strange influence on the
earth—this holy friendship of Jesus Christ started in the hearts and lives of
the apostles. At once it began to make this old world new. Those who believed,
received the same wonderful friendship into their own hearts. They loved each
other in a way men had never loved before. Christians lived together as onefamily.

Ever
since the day of Pentecost, this wonderful friendship of Jesus has been
spreading wherever the gospel has gone. It has given to the world its Christian
homes with their tender affections; it has built hospitals and asylums, and
established charitable institutions of all kinds in every place where its story
has been told. From the cross of Jesus—a wave of tenderness, like the warmth of
summer, has rolled over all lands. The friendship of Jesus, left in the hearts
of his apostles, as his legacy to the world, has wrought marvelously; and its
ministry and influence will extend until everything unlovely shall cease from
earth, and the love of God shall pervade all life.

6.
Jesus and the BELOVED DISCIPLE

Love is
regenerating the world. It is the love of God, that is working this mighty
transformation. The world was cold and loveless before Christ came. Of course
there always was love in the race: father-love, mother-love, filial love, love
for country. There have always been human friendships which were constant,
tender, and true, whose stories shine in bright luster among the records of
life.Naturalaffection
there has always been—butChristian
lovewas not in the world until
Christ came.

The
incarnation, was the breaking into this world, of the love of God. For
thirty-three years Jesus walked among men, pouring out love in every word, in
every act, in all his works, and in every influence of his life. Then on the
cross his heart broke, spilling its love upon the earth. As Mary's ointment
filled all the house where it was emptied out, so the love of God poured out in
Christ's life and death, is filling all the world.

Jesus put
his love into human hearts, that it might be carried everywhere. Instantly there
was a wondrous change. The story of the Church after the day of Pentecost shows
a spirit among the disciples of Christ which the world had never seen before.
They had all things common. The strong helped the weak. They formed a fellowship
which was almost heavenly. From that time to the present—the leaven of love has
been working. It has slowly wrought itself into every department of life—into
art, literature, music, laws, education, morals. Every hospital, orphanage,
asylum, and reformatory in the world, has been inspired by the love of Christ.
Christian civilization is a product of this same divine affection working
through the nations.

Perhaps
no other of the Master's disciples has done so much in the interpreting and the
diffusing of the love of Christ in the world, asthe
beloved disciplehas done.
Peterwas the mightiest force at
the beginning in thefoundingof
the Church. Then camePaulwith
his tremendous missionary energy, carrying Christianity to the ends of the
earth. Each of these apostles was greatest in his own way and place. ButJohn
has done more than either of these to bless the world with love. His
influence is everywhere. He is most like Jesus, of all the disciples. His
influence is slowly spreading among men. We see it in the enlarging spirit of
love among Christians, in the increase of philanthropy, in the growing sentiment
that war must cease among Christian nations, all disputes to be settled by
arbitration, and in the feeling of universal brotherhood which is softening all
true men's hearts toward each other.

It cannot
but be intensely interesting, to trace the story of thefriendship
of Jesus and John, for it was in this hallowed friendship that John learned
all that he gave to the world in his life and words. We are able to fix its
beginning—when Jesus and John met for the first time. One day John the Baptist
was standing by the Jordan with two of his disciples. One of these was Andrew;
and the other we know was John—we know it because in John's own Gospel, where
the incident is recorded, no name is given. The two young men had not yet seen
Jesus; but the Baptist knew him, and pointed him out as he passed by, saying,
"Behold the Lamb of God!"

The two
young men went after Jesus, no doubt eager to speak with him. Hearing their
footsteps behind him, he turned, and asked them what they sought. They asked,
"Teacher, where are you staying?" He said, "Come, and you shall see." They
gladly accepted the invitation, went with him to his lodgings, and remained
until the close of the day. We have no account of what took place during those
happy hours. It would be interesting to know what Jesus said to his visitors—but
not a word of the conversation has been preserved. We may be sure, however, that
the visit made a deep impression on John.

Most days
in our lives, are unmarked by any special event. There are thousands of them
that seem just alike, with their common routine. Once or twice, however, in the
lifetime of almost every person, there is a day which is made forever memorable
by some event or occurrence—the first meeting with one who fills a large place
in one's after years, a compact of sacred friendship, a revealing of some new
truth, a decision which brought rich blessing, or some other experience which
set the day forever apart among all days.

John
lived to be a very old man; but to his last years, he must have remembered the
day when he first met Jesus, and began with him the friendship which brought him
such blessing. We may be sure that as at their first meeting the soul of
Jonathan was knit with the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own
soul—so at this first meeting the soul of John was knit with the soul of Jesus
in a holy friendship which brought unspeakable good to his life. There was that
in Jesus, which at once touched all that was best in John, and called out the
sweetest music of his soul.

John
calls himself "the disciple whom Jesus loved." This designation gives him a
distinction even among the Master's personal friends. Jesus loved all the
apostles—but there werethreewho
belonged in an inner circle. Then, of these three, John was the best beloved. We
are not told what it was in John, that gave him this highest honor. There must
have been certain qualities in John, which fitted him in a peculiar way for
being the closest friend of Jesus.

We know
that John's personality was very winning. He was only a fisherman, and in his
youth lacked opportunities for acquiring knowledge or refinement. John was one
of those rare men "who appear to be formed of finer clay than their neighbors,
and cast in a gentler mold." Evidently he was by nature a man of sympathetic
spirit, one born to be a friend.

The study
ofJohn's writingshelps
us to answer our question. Not once in all his Gospel does he refer to himself
by name; yet as one reads the wonderful chapters, one is aware of a spirit, an
atmosphere, of sweetness. There are fields and meadows in which the air is laden
with fragrance, and yet no flowers can be seen. But looking closely, one finds,
low on the ground, hidden by the tall grasses, a multitude of little lowly
flowers. It is from these, that the perfume comes. In every community there are
humble, quiet lives, almost unheard of among men, who shed asubtle
influenceon all about them. Thus
it is in the chapters of John's Gospel. The name of the writer nowhere
appears—but the charm of his spirit pervades the whole book.

In the
designation which he adopts for himself, there is a fine revealing of character.
There is abeautiful
self-obliterationin the hiding
away of the author's personality, that only the name and glory of Jesus may be
seen. There are some good men, who, even when trying to exalt and honor their
Lord, cannot resist the temptation towrite
their own name large, that those who see the Master may also see the
Master's friend. In John there is an utter absence of this spirit. As the
Baptist, when asked who he was, refused to give his name, and said he was onlya
voiceproclaiming the coming of
the King, so John spoke of himself only asone
whom the Master loved.

We must
note, too, that he does not speak of himself as the disciple who loved
Jesus—this would have been to boast of himself as loving the Master more than
the other disciples did—but as the disciple whom Jesus loved. In this
distinction lies one of the subtlest secrets of Christian peace. Our hope does
not rest inourlove
for Jesus—but inhislove
for us! Our love at the best—is variable in its moods. Today it glows with
warmth and joy, and we say we could die for Christ; tomorrow, in some
depression, we question whether we really love him at all, our feeling responds
so feebly to his name. A peace that depends on our loving Christ—is as variable
as our own consciousness. But when it is Christ's love for us that is our
dependence, our peace is undisturbed by any earthly changes.

Thus we
find in John,a humble
spirit. He was content to be lowly. He knew how to trust. His spirit was
gentle. He was of a deeply spiritual nature. Yet we must not think of him as
weak or effeminate. Perhaps painters have helped to give this impression of him;
but it is one that is not only untrue—but dishonoring. John was a man of noble
strength. In his soul, under his quietness and sweetness of spirit, dwelt a
mighty energy. But he was a man of love, and had learned the lesson of divine
peace; thus he was a self-controlled man.

These are
hints of the character of the disciple whom Jesus loved, whom he chose to be his
closest friend. He was only a lad when Jesus first met him, and we must remember
that the John we chiefly know, was the manas
he developed under the influence of Jesus. What Jesus saw in the youth who
sat down beside him in his lodging-place that day, drank in his words, and
opened his soul to him as a rose to the morning sun—was a nature rich in its
possibilities of noble and beautiful character. The John we know, is the man as
he ripened in the summer of Christ's love. He is a product of pure
Christ-culture. His young soul responded to every inspiration in his Master, and
developed into rarer loveliness every day. Doubtless one of the qualities in
John that fitted him to be the closest friend of Jesus, was hisopenness
of heart, which made him such an apt learner, so ready to respond to every
touch of Christ's hand.

It would
be interesting to trace the story of thisholy
friendshipthrough the three
years Jesus and John were together—but only a little of the wonderful narrative
is written. Some months after the first meeting, there was another beside the
sea. For some reason John and his companions had taken up their fishing again.
Jesus came by in the early morning, and found the men greatly discouraged
because they had been out all night and had caught nothing. He told them to push
out, and to cast their net again, telling them where to cast it. The result was
a great draught of fishes. It was a revealing of divine power, which mightily
impressed the fishermen. He then bade them to follow him, and said he would make
them become fishers of men. Immediately they left the ship, and went with Jesus.

Thus John
had now committed himself altogether to his new Master. From this time he
remained with Jesus, following him wherever he went. He was in his school, and
was an apt scholar. A little later there came another call. Jesus chose twelve
men to beapostles, and among
them was thebeloved disciple.
This choice and call brought him into yet closer fellowship with Jesus. Now the
transformation of character would go on more rapidly, because of the constancy
and the closeness of John's association with his Master.

A
peculiar designation is given to thebrothersJames
and John. Jesus surnamed them Boanerges, thesons
of thunder. There must have been a meaning in such a name given by Jesus
himself. Perhaps the figure of thunder suggests capacity for energy—that the
soul of John was charged, as it were, with fiery zeal. It appears to us, as we
read John's writings, that this could not have been true. He seems such a man of
love, that we cannot think of him as ever being possessed of an opposite
feeling. But there is evidence that by nature he was full of just such energy
held in reserve.

We see
John chiefly in hiswritings;
and these were the fruit of his mellow old age, whenlove's
lessonshad been well learned. It
seems likely that in his youth he had in his breast a naturally quick, fiery
temper. But under theculture of
Jesusthis spirit was brought
into complete mastery. We have one illustration of this earlier natural feeling,
in a familiar incident. The people of a certain village refused to receive the
Master, and John and his brother wished to call down fire from heaven to consume
them. But Jesus reminded them that he was not in the world to destroy men's
lives—but to save them.

We know
not how often this lesson had to be taught to John, before he became the apostle
of love. It was well on inPaul'sold
age, that he said he had learned to be content in whatever state he was in. It
is a comfort to us to know that he was not always able to say this, and that thelesson
had to be learned by him—just as it has to be learned by us. It is a comfort
to us also, to be permitted to believe thatJohn
had to learn to be the loving, gentle disciplehe
became in later life, and that the lesson was not an easy one.

It is
instructive also to remember that it was through his friendship with Jesus, that
John received hissweetnessandlovingnessof
character. Anold Persian fabletells
that one found a piece of fragrant clay in his garden, and that when asked how
it got its perfume, the clay replied, "One laid me on a rose." John lived near
the heart of Jesus, and the love of that heart of gentleness, entered his soul
and transformed him. There is no other secret for any who would learnlove's
great lesson. Abiding in Christ, Christ abides also in us, and we are made
like him—because he lives in us.

John's
distinction of being one of the Master's closest friends, brought him several
times into experiences of peculiar sacredness. He witnessed the transfiguration,
when for an hour the real glory of the Christ shone out through his investiture
of flesh. This was a vision John never forgot. It must have impressed itself
deeply upon his soul. He was also one of those who were led into the inner
shadows of Gethsemane, to be near Jesus while he suffered, and to comfort him
with love.

This last
experience especially suggests to us, something of what the friendship of John
was to Jesus. There is no doubt that this friendship brought toJohn
immeasurable comfort and blessing, enriching his life, and transforming his
character. But what was the friendship, toJesus?
There is no doubt that it was a great deal to him. He craved affection and
sympathy, as every noble heart does, just in the measure of its humanness. One
of the saddest elements of the Gethsemane sorrow, was the disappointment of
Jesus, when, hungry for love—he went back to his chosen three, expecting to find
a little comfort and strength, and found them sleeping!

The
picture of John at the Last Supper,leaning
on Jesus' bosom, shows him to us in the posture in which we think of him
most. It is the place ofconfidence—the
bosom is only for those who have a right to closest intimacy. It is the place oflove—near
the heart. It is the place ofsafety—for
he is in the clasp of the everlasting arms, and none can snatch him out of the
impregnable shelter. It was the darkest night the world ever saw, that John lay
on the bosom of Jesus. That is the place of comfort for all sorrowing believers,
and there is abundance of room for them all on that bosom. John leaned on Jesus'
bosom—weakness reposed on strength, helplessness on almighty help. We should
learn to lean, to lean our whole weight, on Christ. That is the privilege of
Christian faith.

There was
one occasion when John seems to have broken away from his usual humility. He
joined with his brother in a request for thehighest
placesin the new kingdom. This
is only one of the evidences of John's humanness—that he was of like passions
with the rest of us. Jesus treated the brothers with gentle pity, "You know not
what you ask." Then he explained to them that thehighest
places must be reached through toil and sorrow, through the paths of service
and suffering. Later in life, John knew what the Master's words meant. He found
his place nearest to Christ—but it was not on the steps of an earthly throne; it
was a nearness of love, and the steps to it were humility, self-forgetfulness,
and ministry.

It must
have given immeasurable comfort to Jesus—to have John stay so near to him during
the last scenes. If he fled for a moment in the garden when all the apostles
fled, he soon returned; for he was close to his Master during his trial. Then,
when he was on the cross, Jesus saw a group of loving friends near by, watching
with breaking hearts; and among these was John. It lifted a heavy burden off the
heart of Jesus to be able then to commit his mother to John, and to see him lead
her away to his own home. It was a supreme expression of friendship: choosing
John from among all his friends for the sacred duty of sheltering this most
blessed of women.

The story
of this beautiful friendship of Jesus and John shows us what is possible in its
own measure, to every Christian disciple. It is not possible for every Christian
to be aJohn—butclose
friendship with Jesusis the
privilege of every true believer; and all who enter into such a friendship will
be transformed into the likeness of their Friend"

7.
Jesus and PETER

Our first
glimpse of Simon in the New Testament is as he was being introduced to Jesus. It
was beside the Jordan. His brother had brought him; and that moment a friendship
began which not only was of infinite and eternal importance to Simon himself—but
which has left incalculable blessing in the world.

Jesus
looked at him intently, with deep, penetrating gaze. He saw into his very soul.
He read his character; not only what he was then—but the possibilities of his
life—what he would become under the power of grace. He then gave him a new name.
"Jesus looked at him and said—You are Simon, son of John. You will be called
Cephas (which means 'Rock')."

In a
gallery in Europe there hang, side by side, Rembrandt's first picture, a simple
sketch, imperfect and faulty; and his great masterpiece, which all men admire.
So in the two names,SimonandPeter,
we have, first the crude fisherman who came to Jesus that day, the man as hewasbefore
Jesus began his work on him; and second, the man as hebecameduring
the years when the friendship of Jesus had warmed his heart and enriched his
life; when the teaching of Jesus had given him wisdom and kindled holy
aspirations in his soul; and when the experiences of struggle and failure, of
penitence and forgiveness, of sorrow and joy, had wrought their transformations
in him.

"You are
Simon." That was his name then. "You will be called Cephas." That was what he
would become. It was common in the East, to give a new name to denote a change
of character, or to indicate a man's position among men.Abram'sname
was changed to Abraham, "Father of a multitude" when the promise was sealed to
him. Jacob'sname, which meant
supplanter, one who lived by deceit, was changed to Israel, a prince with God,
after that night when the old nature was maimed and defeated while he wrestled
with God, and overcame by clinging in faith and trust. So Simon received a new
name when he came to Jesus, and began his friendship with him. "You will be
called Cephas."

This did
not mean that Simon's character was changed instantly into the quality which the
new name indicated. It meant that Jesus saw in him thepossibilitiesof
firmness, strength, and stability, of which a rock is the emblem. It meant that
this would be his character by and by, when the work of grace in him was
finished. The new name was a prophecy of the man that was to be, the man that
Jesus would make of him. Now he was only Simon—rash, impulsive, self-confident,
vain—and therefore weak and unstable.

Some of
the processes in this making of a man, this transformation ofSimoninto
Cephas, we may note as we read the story. There were three years between
the beginning of the friendship of Jesus and Simon, and the time when the man
was ready for his work. The process was not easy. Simon had many hard lessons to
learn. Self-confidencehad to
be changed into humility.Impetuosityhad
to be chastened and disciplined into quiet self-control.Presumptionhad
to be awed and softened into reverence. Heedlessness had to grow into
thoughtfulness. Rashness had to be subdued into prudence; and weakness had to be
tempered into calm strength. All this moral history was folded up in the words,
"You shall be called Cephas—a rock."

The
meeting by the Jordan, was the beginning. Anew
friendshipcoming into a life may
color all its future, may change its destiny. We never know what may come of anychance
meeting. But the beginning of a friendship with Jesus has infinite
possibilities of good. The giving of the new name, must have put a new thought
of life's meaning into Simon's heart. It must have set a new vision in his soul,
and kindled new aspirations within his bosom. Life must have meant more to him
from that hour. He had glimpses of possibilities he had never dreamed of before.
It is always so when Jesus truly comes into anyone's life. A new conception of
character dawns on the soul, a new ideal, a revelation which changes all
thoughts of living. The friendship of Jesus is most inspiring.

Some
months passed, and then came aformal
callwhich drew Simon into close
and permanent relations with Jesus. It was on the Sea of Galilee. The men were
fishing. There had been a night of unsuccessful toil. In the morning Jesus used
Simon's boat for a pulpit, speaking from its deck to the throngs on the shore.
He then bade the men push out into deep water and let down their net. Simon said
it was not worth while—still he would do the Master's bidding. The result was an
immense haul of fish!

The
effect of the miracle on Simon's mind was overwhelming. Instantly he felt that
he was in the presence of divine revealing, and a sense of his own sinfulness
and unworthiness oppressed him. "Depart from me; for I am a sinful man, O Lord!"
he cried. Jesus quieted his terror with his comforting "Fear not!" Then he said
to him, "From henceforth you shall catchmen."
Thiswas another self-revealing.
Simon's work as a fisherman was ended. He forsook all, and followed Jesus,
becoming a disciple in the full sense. His friendship with Jesus was deepening.
He gave up everything he had—going with Jesus into poverty, homelessness, and—he
knew not what.

Living
daily with Jesus, Simon saw his Master's life in all its manifold phases,
hearing the words he spoke whether in public on in private conversation, and
witnessing every revealing of his character, disposition, and spirit. It is
impossible to estimate the influence of all this on the life of Simon. He was
continually seeing new things in Jesus, hearing new words from his lips,
learning new lessons from his life. One cannot live in daily companionship with
any good man without being deeply influenced by the association. To live with
Jesus in intimate relations of friendship was a holy privilege, and its effect
on Simon's character cannot be over estimated.

An event
which must have had a great influence on Simon washis
call to be an apostle. Not only was he one of the Twelve—but his name came
first—it is always given first. He was the most honored of all, was to be their
leader, occupying the first place among them. A true-hearted man is not elated
or puffed up—by such honoring as this. It humbles him, rather, because thedistinctionbrings
with it a sense of responsibility. It awes a godly man—to become
conscious that God is entrusting him with place and duty in the world, and is
using him to be a blessing to others. He must walk worthy of his high calling. A
new sanctity invests him—the Lord has set him apart for holy service.

Another
event which had a marked influence on Simon, was his recognition of the
Messiahship of Jesus. Just how this great truth dawned upon his consciousness,
we do not know—but there came a time when the conviction was so strong in him,
that he could not but give expression to it. It was in the neighborhood of
Caesarea Philippi. Jesus had led the Twelve apart into a secluded place for
prayer. There he asked them two solemn questions. He asked them first—-what the
people were saying about him—who they thought he was. The answer showed that he
was not understood by them; there weredifferent
opinionsabout him, none of them
correct. Then he asked the Twelve whotheythought
he was. Simon answered, "You are the Christ, the Son of the living God!" The
confession was wonderfully comprehensive. It declared that Jesus was the
Messiah, and that he was a divine being—the Son of the living God.

It was a
great moment in Simon's life, when he uttered this wonderful confession. Jesus
replied with a beatitude for Simon, and then spoke another prophetic word: "You
arePeter," using now the new
name which was beginning to be fitting, as the new man that was to be—was
growing out of the old man that was being left behind. "You arePeter,
and upon thisrockI
will build my church." It was a further unveiling of Simon's future. It was in
effect an unfolding or expansion of what he had said when Simon first stood
before him. "You shall be called Cephas—a rock." As a confessor of Christ,
representing all the apostles, Peter was thus honored by his Lord.

But theMessianic
lessonwas yet only partly
learned. Simon believed that Jesus was the Messiah—but his conception of the
Messiah was still only anearthlyone.
So we read that from that time Jesus began to teach the apostles the truth about
his mission—that he mustsuffermany
things, and be killed. Then it was that Simon made his grave mistake in seeking
tohold his Master back from the
cross, "Be it far from you, Lord! This shall never be unto you!" he said
with great vehemence. Quickly came the stern reply, "Get behind me, Satan! You
are a stumbling-block unto me!" Simon had to learn a new lesson. He did not get
it fully learned, until after Jesus had risen again, and the Holy Spirit had
come—that the measure ofrankin
spiritual life—is the measure ofself-forgetting
service.

We get a
serious lesson here inloveandfriendship.
It is possible for us to become Satan—even to those we love the best. We
do this when we try to dissuade them from the hard toil, the costly service, or
the perilous missions to which God is calling them. We need to exercise the most
diligent care, and to keep firm restraint upon our own affections, lest in our
desire to make the way easier for our friends—we tempt them to turn from the
path which God has chosen for their feet.

Thus
lesson after lesson did Simon have to learn, each one leading to a deeper
humility. "Less of self—and more of You; none of self—and all of You."

Thus we
reach the last night with its sad fall. Thedenial
of Peterwas a terrible
disappointment. We would have said it was impossible, as Peter himself said. He
was as brave as a lion. He loved Jesus deeply and truly. He had received the
name ofthe rock. For three
years he had been under the teaching of Jesus, and he had been received into
special honor and favor among the apostles. He had been faithfully forewarned of
his danger, and we say, "Forewarned, is forearmed." Yet in spite of all, this
bravest, most favored disciple, thisman
of rock—fell most ignominiously, at a time, too, when friendship to his
Master ought to have made him truest and most loyal.

It was
theloving gentleness of Jesusthat
saved him. What intense pain there must have been in the heart of the Master
when, after hearing Peter's denial, he turned and lookedat
Peter!

I think
thelook of Christmight
seem to say, "You Peter! Are you then the stone which I at last must break my
heart upon? Did I yesterday wash your feet, my beloved—that they should run
quick to deny me? And do your kisses like the rest betray me?"

It was
after this look ofwondrous lovethat
Peter went out and wept bitterly. At last he remembered. It seemed too late—but
it was not too late. The heart of Jesus was not closed against him—and he rose
from his fall a new man.

What
place had thedenial—in the
story of the training of Peter? It had a very important place. Up to that last
night, there was still agrave
blemishin Simon's character. Hisself-confidencewas
an element of weakness. Perhaps there was no other way in which this fault could
be cured—but by allowing him to fall. We know at least that, in the bitter
experience of denial, with its solemn repenting, Peter lost his weakness. He
came from his penitence—a new man. At last he was disenthralled. He had learned
thelesson of humility. It was
never again possible for him to deny his Lord. A little later, after a
heart-searching question thrice repeated, he was restored and re-commissioned,
"Feed my lambs; feed my sheep."

So the
work was completed; the vision of the new man had been realized.Simonhad
becomeCephas. It had been a
long and costly process—but neither too long nor too costly. While themarblewas
wasting, theimagewas
growing.

You say
it was a great price thatSimonhad
to pay—to be fashioned intoPeter.
You ask whether it was worth while, whether it would not have been quite as well
for him if he had remained the plain, obscure fisherman he was, when Jesus first
found him. Then he would have been only a fisherman, and after living among his
neighbors for his allotted years—he would have had a quiet funeral one day, and
would have been laid to rest beside the sea. As it was, he had a life of poverty
and toil and hard service.

It took a
great deal of severe discipline to make him into the strong, firmman
of rock,that Jesus set out to
produce in him. But who will say today that it was not worth while? The splendid
Christian manhood of Peter has been now for nineteen centuries before the eyes
of the world, as a type of character which Christian men should emulate—a vision
of life whose influence has touched millions with its inspiration. The price
which had to be paid to attain thisnobleness
of characterand this vastness of
holy influence—was not too great.

But how
aboutourselves? It may be
quite as hard for some of us to be made into the image of beauty and strength,
which the Master has set for us. It may require that we shall pass through
experiences of loss, trial, temptation and sorrow. Life's great lessons are very
long, and cannot be learned in a day; nor can they be learned easily. But at
whatever cost, they are worth while. It is worth while for thegoldto
pass through the fire—to be made pure and clean. It is worth while for the gem
to endure the hard processes necessary to prepare it for shining in its dazzling
splendor. It is worth while for a Christian to submit to whatever severe
discipline may be required—to bring out in him the likeness of the Master, and
to fit him for noble living and serving.

Poets are
said to learn insuffering—what
they teach insong. If only
one line of noble, inspiring, uplifting song is sung into the world's air, and
started on a world-wide mission of blessing, no price paid for the privilege is
too much to pay. David had to suffer a great deal to be able to write the
Twenty-Third Psalm—but he does not now think that psalm cost him too much.

8.
Jesus and THOMAS

There is
no record of thebeginningof
the friendship of Jesus and Thomas. We do not knowwhenThomas
became a disciple, norwhatfirst
drew him to Jesus. Did a friend bring him? Did he learn of the new rabbi through
his fame—and then come to him without solicitation? Did he hear him speak one
day, and find himself drawn to him by the power of his gracious words? Or did
Jesus seek him out in his home or at his work, and call him to be a follower?

We do not
know. Themannerof
his coming is veiled in obscurity. The first mention of his name is in the list
of the Twelve. As theapostleswere
chosen from the much larger company of those who were alreadydisciples,
Thomas must have been a followerof
Jesus before he was anapostle.
He and Jesus had been friends for some time, and there is evidence that the
friendship was a very close and tender one. Even in the scant material available
for the making up of the story, we find evidence in Thomas of strong loyalty and
unwavering devotion; and in Jesus of marvelous patience and gentleness toward
his disciple.

We have
in the New Testament many wonderfullylifelike
portraits. Occurring again and again, they are always easily recognizable.
In every mention ofPeter, for
example, the man is indubitably the same. He is always active, speaking or
acting; not always wisely—but in every case characteristically impetuous,
self-confident, rash—and yet ever warm-hearted. We would know him unmistakably
in every incident in which he appears, even if his name were not given.John,
too, whenever we see him, is always the same—reverent, quiet, affectionate,
trustful,the disciple of love.Andrewappears
only a few times—but in each of these cases, he is engaged in the same
way—bringing someone to Jesus.Mary
of Bethanycomes into the story
on only three occasions; but always we see her in the same attitude—at Jesus'
feet—while Martha is ever active in her serving.

Thecharacterof
Thomas also is sketched in a very striking way. There are butthree
incidentsin which this apostle
appears; but in all of these the portrait is the same, and is so clear that even
Peter's character is scarcely better known than that of Thomas.He
always looks at the dark side.We
think of him asthe doubter;
but his doubt is not of the flippant kind which reveals lack of reverence,
ofttimes ignorance and lack of earnest thought; it is rathera
constitutional tendency to question, and to wait for proof which would
satisfy the senses—than a disposition to deny the facts of Christianity. Thomas
was ready to believe, glad to believe—whenthe
proof was sufficient to convince him. Then all the while—he was ardently a true
and devoted friend of Jesus, attached to him, and ready to follow him even to
death.

The first
incident in which Thomas appears, is in connection with thedeath
of Lazarus. Jesus had now gone beyond the Jordan with his disciples. The
Jews had sought to kill him; and he escaped from their hands, and went away for
safety. When news of the sickness of Lazarus came, Jesus waited two days, and
then said to his disciples, "Let us go into Judea again." The disciples reminded
him of the hatred of the Jews, and of their recent attempts to kill him. They
thought that he ought not to venture back again into the danger, even for the
sake of carrying comfort to thesorrowing
Bethany household.

Jesus
answered with a little parable about one's security while walking during the
day. The meaning of the parable was that he had not yet reached the end of his
day, and therefore could safely continue the work which had been given him to
do. Every man doing God's will is immortal—until the work is done. Jesus then
announced to his disciples, that Lazarus was dead, and that he was going to
awaken him.

It is at
this point thatThomasappears.
He said to his fellow-disciples, "Let us also go—that we may die with him." He
looked only at thedarkside.
He took it for granted, that if Jesus returned to Judea—he would be killed. He
forgot for the time—the divine power of Jesus, and the divine protection which
sheltered him while he was doing the Father's will. He failed to understand the
words Jesus had just spoken about his security until the hours of his day were
finished. He remembered only thebitterness
which the Jews had shown toward Jesus, and their determination to destroy
his life. He imagined that if Jesus returned, they would not carry out their
wicked purpose. There was nobluein
the sky for him. He saw onlydarkness.

Thomas
represents a class of people who are found in every community. They see only thesadside
of life. Nostarsshine
through their cypress-trees. In the time of danger, they forget that there aredivine
refugesinto which they may flee
and be safe. They know the promises, and often quote them to others; but when
trouble comes upon themself, all these words of God fade out of their minds. In
times of sorrow—they fail to receive any true and substantial comfort from the
Scripture. So hope dies in their hearts—when theshadowsgather
about them. They yield to discouragement, and the darkness blots out every star
in their sky. Whatever the trouble may be that comes into their life—they see
only the trouble, and fail to perceive thebright
lightin thecloud.

This
habit of mind adds much to life's hardness. Everyburdenis
heavier, because of the sad heart that beats under it. Everypainis
keener, because of the dispiriting which it brings with it. Everysorrowis made darker,
by the hopelessness with which it is endured. Everycareis
magnified, and the sweetness of every pleasure is lessened, by thispessimistic
tendency. The beauty of the world loses half its charm—in the eyes which see
all things in the hue of despondent feeling. Slightest fears become terrors, and
smallest trials grow into great misfortunes.

Ourheartmakes
ourworldfor
us; and if the heart is without hope and cheer—the world is always dark. We find
in life—just what we have the capacity to find. One who is color-blind, sees no
loveliness in nature. One who has no music in his soul, hears no harmonies
anywhere. When fear sits omnipotent on the throne, life is full of alarms.

On the
other hand, if the heart is full of hope—every joy is doubled, and half of every
trouble vanishes. There are sorrows—but they are comforted. There are bitter
cups—but the bitterness is sweetened. There are heavy burdens—but the songful
spirit lightens them. There are dangers—but cheerful courage robs them of
terror. All the world is brighter—when the light of hope shines within the
heart.

But we
have read only half the story, of the fear of Thomas. He saw only danger in the
Master's return to Judea. "The Jews will kill him! He will go back to certain
death!" he said. But Thomas would notforsakeJesus,
though he was going straight to martyrdom. "Let us also go—that we may die with
him!" Thus, mingled with his fear, was a noble andheroic
lovefor Jesus. The hopelessness
of Thomas as he thought of Jesus going to Bethany, makes his devotion and his
cleaving to him all the braver and nobler. He was sure that it was a walk to
death—but he faltered not in his loyalty.

This is anoblespirit
in Thomas—which we would do well to emulate. It is the true soldierspirit.
Itsdevotionto
Christ is absolute, and itsfollowingof
Christ is unconditional. It has only one motive—love; and one rule—obedience. It
is not influenced by any question of consequences; but though it be to certain
death, it hesitates not. This is the kind of discipleship which the Master
demands. He who loves father or mother more than him—is not worthy of him. He
who hates not his own life—cannot be his disciple. A follower of Jesus must be
ready and willing to follow him to his cross!

Thomasprovedhis
friendship for his Master by anoble
heroism. It is the highest test of courage, to go forward unfalteringly in
the way of duty—when one sees only personal loss and sacrifice as the result.
The soldier who trembles, and whose face whitens from constitutional physical
fear, and who yet marches steadily into the battle, is braver far than the
soldier who without a tremor presses into the engagement.

The
second time at which Thomas appears is in theupper
room, after the Holy Supper had been eaten. Jesus had spoken of the Father's
house, and had said that he was going away to prepare a place for his disciples,
and that then he would come again to receive them unto himself. Thomas could not
understand the Master's meaning, and said, "Lord, we do not know where you are
going; how can we know the way?" He would not say hebelieved,
until hesawfor
himself. That is all that his question in the upper room meant—he wished the
Master to make the great teaching a little plainer.

It were
well if more Christians insisted on finding the ground of their faith, the
reasons why they are Christians. Their faith would then be stronger, and less
easily shaken. When trouble comes, or any testing, it would continue firm and
unmoved, because itrests on the
rock of divine truth.

The last
incident in the story of Thomas isafter
the resurrection. The apostles met in the upper room, to talk over the
strange things which had occurred that day. For some reason, Thomas was not at
this meeting. We may infer that his melancholy temperament, had led him to
absent himself. He had loved Jesus deeply, and his sorrow was very great. There
had been rumors all day of Christ's resurrection—but Thomas put no confidence in
these. Perhaps his despondent disposition made him unsocial, and kept him from
meeting with the other apostles, even to weep with them.

That
evening Jesus entered through the closed doors, and stood in the midst of the
disciples, and greeted them as he had done so often before, "Peace be unto you!"
They told Thomas afterwards, that they had seen the Lord. But he refused to
believe them; that is, hedoubtedthe
reality of what they thought they had seen. He said that they had been deceived;
and he asserted that he must not onlyseefor
himself—but must have the opportunity of subjecting the evidence to the severest
test. "Unless I see the nail marks in his hands and put my finger where the
nails were, and put my hand into his side—I will not believe it!"

It is
instructive to think of what thisdoubting
dispositionof Thomascosthim.
First, it kept him from the meeting of the disciples that evening, when all the
others came together. He shut himself up with his gloom and sadness. His grief
was hopeless, and he would not seek comfort. The consequence was, that when
Jesus entered the room, and showed himself to his friends, Thomas missed the
revealing which gave them such unspeakable gladness. From that hour theirsorrowwas
changed tojoy; but for the
whole of another week, Thomas remained in thedarknessin
which the crucifixion had enfolded him.

Doubt is
always costly. It shuts out heavenly comfort. There are many Christian people
who, especially in the first shock of sorrow, have an experience similar to that
of Thomas. They shut themselves up with their grief, and refuse to accept the
comfort of the gospel of Christ. They turn away their ears from thevoices
of love which speak to them out of the Bible, and will not receive the
divine consolations. The light shines all around them; but they close doors and
windows, and keep it from entering the darkened chamber where they sit. The
music of peace floats on the air in sweet, entrancing strains—but no gentle note
finds its way to their hearts!

Too many
Christian mourners, fail to find comfort in their sorrow. They believe the great
truths of Christianity; but their faith fails them in the hour of sorest
distress. Meanwhile they walk in darkness as Thomas did. On the other hand,
those who accept, and let into their hearts the great truths of Christ's
resurrection and the immortal life in Christ, feel thepain
of partingno less sorely—but
they findabundant consolationin
the hope of eternal life for those whom they have lost for a time.

We have
an illustration of the deep, tender, patient, and wise friendship of Jesus for
Thomas, in the way he treated this doubt of his apostle. He did not say that if
Thomas could not believe the witness of the apostles to his resurrection, that
he must remain in the darkness which his unbelief had made for him. He treated
his doubt with exceeding gentleness, as a skillful physician would deal with a
dangerous wound. He was in no haste. A full week passed before he did anything.
During those days the sad heart had time to react, to recover something of its
self-poise. Thomas still persisted in his refusal to believe—but when a week had
gone he found his way with the others to their meeting. Perhaps their belief in
the Lord's resurrection made such a change in them, so brightened and
transformed them—that Thomas grew less positive in his unbelief—as he saw them
day after day. At least he was ready now to be convinced. He wanted to believe.

That
night Jesus came again into the room, the doors being shut, and standing in the
midst of his friends, breathed again upon them his blessing of peace. Then he
turned to Thomas; and holding out his hands, with the nail prints in them—he
asked him to put the evidences of his resurrection to the very tests he had said
he must make, before he could believe. Now Thomas was convinced. He did not make
the tests, he had insisted that he must make. There was no need for it. To look
into the face of Jesus, to hear his voice, and to see the prints of the nails in
his hands—was evidence enough even for Thomas. All his doubts were swept away.
Falling at the Master's feet, he exclaimed, "My Lord and my God!"

Thus thegentleness
of Jesusin dealing with his
doubts, saved Thomas from being an unbeliever. It is a great thing to have a
wise and faithful friend, when one is passing through an experience of doubt.
Many people are only confirmed in their doubts, by the well-meant but unwise
efforts that are made to convince them of the truth concerning which they doubt.
It is notargumentthat
they need—but thepatience of love,
which waits in silence until the right time comes for words, and which then
speaks but little. Thomas was convinced, not by words—but by seeing the
proofs of Christ's love in the prints of the nails.

We may be
glad now, that Thomas was hard to convince of the truth of Christ's
resurrection. It makes the proofs more indubitable to us—that one even of the
apostles refused at first to believe, and yet at length was led into triumphant
faith. If all the apostles had believed easily, there would have been no comfort
in the gospel for those who find it hard to believe, and yet who sincerely want
to believe. The fact that one doubted, and even refused to accept the witness of
his fellow apostles, and then at length was led into clear, strong faith—forever
teaches thatdoubt is not hopeless.
Ofttimes it may be buta
process in the development of faith.

The story
of Thomas shows, too, that there may behonest
doubt. While he doubted—he yet loved; perhaps no other one of the apostles
loved Jesus more than did Thomas. He never made any such bold confession as
Peter did—but neither did he ever deny Christ. Thomas has been a comfort to
many, because he has shown them that they can be true Christians, true lovers of
Christ, and yet not be able to boast of their assurance of faith.

Surely,faithis
better thanquestioning—but
there may behonest
questioningwhich yet is
intensely loyal to Christ. Questioning, too, which is eager to find the truth
and rest on the rock—may be better than easy believing, that takes no pains to
know the reason of the hope it cherishes, and lightly recites the noble articles
of a creed it has never seriously studied.

That
which saved Thomas—was his deep, strong friendship for Christ. "The
characteristic of Thomas," says Maclaren, "is that he both doubted and loved.
His doubt was swallowed up in love." If friendship for Christ is loyal and true,
we need not look uponquestioningas
disloyalty; it may be but love finding the way up the rugged mountain-side to
the sunlit summit of a glorious faith. There is askepticismwhose
face is toward wintriness and death; but there is adoubtwhich
is looking toward the sun and toward all blessedness.

Thomas
teaches us that one may look on the dark side—and yet be a Christian, an ardent
lover of Jesus, ready to die for him! But we must admit that this is not the
best way to live. No one would say that Thomas was theidealamong
the apostles, that his character was the most beautiful, his life the noblest
and the best.Faithis
better thandoubt; andconfidencebetter
thanquestioning. It is better
to be a sunny Christian, rejoicing, songful, happy—than a sad, gloomy,
despondent Christian. It makes one's own life sweeter and more beautiful. Then
it makes others happier. A gloomyChristian
casts dark shadows wherever he goes; asunnyChristian
is a blessing to every life he touches!

9.
Jesus' Unrequited Friendships

There is
a great deal ofunrequited
lovein this world. There are
hearts that love with all the strength of purest and holiest affection, whose
love seems to meet no requital. There is much unrequited mother-love and
father-love. Parents live for their children. In helpless infancy they begin to
pour out their affection on them. They toil for them, suffer for them, deny
themselves to provide comforts for them, bear their burdens, watch beside them
when they are sick, pray for them, and teach them. Parent-love is most like
God's love—of all earthly affections. It is one of the things in humanity, which
at its best seems to have come from the Fall almost unimpaired. Much parent-love
is worthily honored and fittingly requited. Few things in this world are more
beautiful, than the devotion of children to parents which one sees in some
homes. But not always is there such return. Too often is this almost divine
love, unrequited.

Muchphilanthropiclove
also is unrequited. There are men who spend all their life in doing good, and
then meet no thankful return. Men have served their country with loyalty and
unselfishness, and have received no reward—perhaps have been left to suffering,
and have died in poverty, neglected and forgotten; too often have lain in
prison, or been put to death, or exiled by the country which was indebted to
their patriotism and loyal service, for much of its glory and greatness. Many
hearts break because of men's ingratitude.

Jesus was
the world's greatest benefactor. No other man ever loved the race, or could have
loved it, as he did. He was the divine messenger, who came to save the world.
His whole life was a revealing of love. It was the love of God too—a love of
infinitedepthand strengthandtenderness,
and not any merely human love, however rich and faithful it might be—that was
manifested in Jesus Christ. Yet much of his wonderful love wasunrequited.
"He was in the world, and the world was made by him—and the world knew him not.
He came unto his own, and his own received him not." A few individuals
recognized him and accepted his love; but the great masses of the people paid
him no heed, saw no beauty in him, rejected the blessings he bore and offered to
all, and let his love waste itself in unavailing yearnings and beseechings. Then
one cruel day—they nailed him on a cross, thinking to quench the affection of
his mighty heart.

There are
many illustrations of the unrequiting of the holy friendship of Jesus. The
treatment he received atNazarethwas
one instance. He had been brought up among the people. They had seen his
beautiful life during the thirty years he had lived in the village. They had
known him as a child when he played in their streets. They had known him as a
youth and young man in his noble strength. They had known him as a carpenter
when day after day he worked among them in humble toil.

It is
interesting to think of the sinless life of Jesus all these years. There was nohalo
around his head, but the shining of noble character. There were no miracles
wrought by his hands, but the miracles of duty, faithful service, and gentle
kindness. Yet we cannot doubt that his life in Nazareth was one of rare grace
and beauty, marked by perfect unselfishness and great helpfulness.

By and
by, he went away from Nazareth to begin his public ministry as the Messiah. From
that time the people saw him no more.

The
carpenter shop was closed, and the tools lay unused on the bench. The familiar
form appeared no more on the streets. A year or more passed, and one day he came
back to visit his old neighbors. He stayed a little while, and on the Sabbath
was at the village church as had been his custom when his home was at Nazareth.
When the opportunity was given him, he unrolled the Book of Isaiah, and read the
passage which tells of the anointing of the Messiah, and gives the wonderful
outline of his ministry. When he had finished the reading, he told the people
that this prophecy was now fulfilled in their ears. That is, he said thathe
was the Messiahwhose anointing
and work the prophet had foretold. For a time the people listened spellbound to
his gracious words, and then they began to grow angry, that he whom they knew as
the carpenter of their village, should make such an astounding claim. They rose
up in anger, thrust him out of the synagogue, and would have hurled him over the
precipice, had he not eluded them and gone on his way.

He had
come to them in love, bearing rich blessings; but they drove him away with the
blessings. He had come to heal their sick, to cure their blind and lame, to
cleanse their lepers, to comfort their sorrowing ones; but he had to go away and
leave these works of mercy unwrought, while the sufferers continued to bear
their burdens. His friendship for his old neighbors was unrequited.

Another
instance of unrequited friendship in the life of Jesus, was in the case of the
rich young manwho came to
him. He had many excellent traits of character, and was also an earnest seeker
after the truth. We are distinctly told that Jesus loved him. Thus he belongs
with Martha and Mary and Lazarus, of whom the same was said. But here, again,
the love was unrequited. The young man was deeply interested in Jesus, and
wanted to go with him; but he could not pay the price, and turned and went away.

It is
interesting to think what might have been the result if he had chosen Christ and
gone with him. He might have occupied an important place in the early church,
and his name might have lived through all future generations. But he loved hismoneytoo
much to give it up for Christ, and rejected theway
of the crossmarked out for him.
He refused the friendship of Jesus, and thus threw away all that was best in
life. In shutting love out of his heart, he shut himself out from love.

Of all
the examples of unrequited friendship in the story of Jesus, that ofJudasis
the saddest. We do not know the beginning of the story of his discipleship, when
Judas first came to Jesus, or who brought him. But he must have been a follower
some time before he was chosen to be an apostle. Jesus thought over the names of
those who had left all to be with him. Then after a night of prayer he chose
twelve of these to be his special messengers and witnesses. He loved them all,
and took them into very close relations.

Think
what a privilege it was for these men to live with Jesus. They heard all his
words. They saw every phase of his life.

Some
friends it is better—notto
know too intimately. They are not as good in private—as they are in public.
Their life does not bear too close inspection. We discover in them dispositions,
habits, ways, tempers, feelings, motives, which dim the luster we see in them at
greater distance. Intimacyweakensthe
friendship.

But, on
the other hand, there are those who, the more we see of their private life—the
more we love them. Close association reveals loveliness of character, fineness
of spirit, richness of heart, sweetness of disposition—habits, feelings,
tempers, noble self-denials, which add to the attractiveness of the life and the
charm of our friend's personality. We may be sure thatintimacy
with Jesusonly made him appear
all the more winning and beautiful to his friends.

Judas
lived in the warmth of this wondrous love, under the influence of this gracious
personality, month after month. He witnessed the pure and holy life of Jesus in
all its manifold phases, heard his words, and saw his works. Doubtless, too, in
his individual relation with the Master, he received many marks of affection and
personal friendship.

A careful
reading of the Gospels shows that Judas was frequently warned of the very sin
which in the end wrought his ruin. Continually Jesus spoke ofthe
danger of covetousness. In the Sermon on the Mount, he exhorted his
disciples to lay up their treasure, not upon earth—but in heaven, and said that
no one could serve bothGod
andmammon. It was just this,
that Judas was trying to do. In several of his parables, thedanger
of richeswas emphasized. Can we
doubt that in all these reiterations and warnings on the one subject—thatJudaswas
in the Master's mind? He was trying in the faithfulness of loyal friendship, to
save him from the sin which was imperiling his very life.

But Judas
resisted all the mighty love of Christ. It made no impression upon him; he was
unaffected by it. In his heart, there grew on meanwhile, unchecked, unhindered,
his terriblegreed for money.

First it
made him a thief. The money given to Jesus by his friends to provide for his
needs, or to use for the poor—Judas, who was the treasurer, began at length to
purloin for himself. This was the first step. The next was the selling of his
master for thirty pieces of silver. This was a more fearful fruit of his
nourished greed—than the purloining was. It is bad enough to steal. It is a base
form of stealing whichrobs a
church treasuryas Judas did. But
to take money as the price ofbetraying
a friend—could any sin be baser? Could any crime be blacker than that? To
take money as the price of betraying a friend in whose confidence one has lived
for years, at whose table one has eaten day after day, in the blessing of whose
friendship one has rested for months and years—are there words black enough to
paint the infamy of such a deed?

All the
participators in the crime of that Good Friday, wear a peculiar brand of infamy
as they are portrayed on the pages of history; but among them all, themost
despicable, the one whose name bears the deepest infamy—is Judas, an apostle
turned traitor—for a few miserable coins, betraying his best friend into the
hands of malignant foes!

This is
the outcome of the friendship of Jesus for Judas; this was the fruit of those
years of affection, cherishing, patient teaching. Think what Judasmighthave
been. He was chosen and called to be an apostle. There was no reason in the
heart of Jesus, why Judas might not have been true and worthy. Judas fell,
because he had never altogether surrendered himself to Christ. He tried to serve
God—and mammon; but both could not stay in his heart, and instead of driving out
mammon, mammon drove out Christ.

This
suggests to us what abattlefield
the human heartsometimes is—a
Waterloo where destinies are settled. God or mammon—which? That is the question
every soul must answer. How goes the battle in your soul? Who is winning on your
field—Christ or money? Christ or pleasure? Christ or sin? Christ or self? Judas
lost the battle; the Devil won.

A picture
in Brussels represents Judas wandering about the night after the betrayal. By
chance he comes upon the workmen who have been preparing the cross for Jesus. A
fire burning close by, throws its light on the faces of the men who are now
sleeping. The face of Judas is somewhat in the shade; but one sees on it remorse
and agony, as the traitor's eyes fall upon the cross and the tools which have
been used in making it—the cross to which his treason had doomed his friend. But
though suffering in the torments of a guilty conscience, he still tightly
clutches his money-bag as he hurries on into the night. The picture tells the
story of the fruit of Judas' sin—the money-bag, with eighteen dollars and sixty
cents in it, and even that soon to be cast away in the madness of despair.

Unrequited friendship! Yes! and in shutting out that blessed friendship, Judas
shut out hope.

The great
lesson from all this—is the peril of rejecting the friendship of Jesus Christ.
In his friendship, is the only way to salvation, the only way of obtaining
eternal life. He calls men tocometo
him, tofollowhim,
to be his friends; and thus alone can they come unto God, and be received into
his family.

There is
something appalling in the revealing which this truth teaches—the power each
soul possesses of shutting out the love of God; of resisting the infinite
blessing of the friendship of Christ. It is possible for us to be near to Christ
through all our life, with his grace flowing around us like an ocean—and yet to
have a heart that remains unblessed by divine love. We may make God's love in
vain, wasted—as sunshine is wasted that falls upon desert sands—so far as we are
concerned. The love that we do not requite with love, that does not get into our
heart to warm, soften, and enrich it, and to mellow and bless our life—is love
poured out in vain. It is made in vain—by our unbelief. We may make even the
dying of Jesus in vain for us—a waste of precious life, so far asweare
concerned. It is in vain for us that Jesus died—if we do not receive his love
into our heart.

Ofttimes
the unrequiting of human love, makes the heart bitter. When holy friendship has
been despised, rejected, and cast away, when one has loved, suffered, and
sacrificed in vain, receiving only ingratitude and wrong in return for love's
most sacred gifts freely lavished—the danger is that the heart may lose its
sweetness, and grow cold, hard, and cynical. But the heart of Jesus was
unaffected by the unrequiting of his love and friendship. One Judas in the life
of most men would have ended the whole career of generous kindness, drying up
the fountains of affection, thus robbing those who would come after, of the
wealth of tenderness which ought to have been theirs. But through all the
unrequiting and resisting of its love—the heart of Jesus still remained gentle
as a mother's, rich in its power to love, and sweet in its spirit.

This is
one of the great problems of true living—how to keep the heart warm, gentle,
compassionate, kind, full of affection's best and truest helpfulness, even amid
life's hardest experiences. We cannot live—and not at some time suffer wrong. We
will meet injustice, however justly we ourselves may live. We will find areturn
of ingratitudemany a time—when
we have done our best for others. Favors rendered, are too easily forgotten by
many people. There are few of us who do not remember helping others in time of
great need and distress, only to lose their friendship in the end, perhaps, as a
consequence of our serving them in their need. Sometimes the only return for
costly kindness—is cruel unkindness!

It is
easy to allow such unrequiting, such ill treatment of love, toembitter
the fountain of the heart's affection;but
this would be to miss the true end of living, which is to get good and not evil
to ourselves from every experience through which we pass. No ingratitude,
injustice, or unworthiness in those to whom we try to do good—should ever be
allowed to turnlove's sweetnessinto
bitterness in us. Like fresh-water springs beside the sea, over which the
brackish tide flows—but which when the bitter waters have receded are found as
sweet as ever—so should our hearts remain amid all experiences oflove's
unrequiting—ever sweet, thoughtful, unselfish and generous.

10.
Jesus and the BETHANY SISTERS

The story
of Jesus and the Bethany home is intensely interesting. Every thoughtful
Christian has a feeling of gratitude in his heart, when he remembers how much
that home added to the comfort of the Master by means of the hospitality, the
shelter, and the love it gave to him.

One of
the legends of Brittany tells us that on the day of Christ's crucifixion, as he
was on his way to his cross, a bird, pitying the weary sufferer bearing his
heavy burden, flew down, and plucked away one of the thorns that pierced his
brow. As it did so, the blood spurted out after the thorn, and splashed the
breast of the bird. Ever since that day, the bird has had a splash of red on its
bosom, whence it is called robin-red-breast. Certainly the love of the Bethany
home drew from the breast of Jesus many a thorn, and blessed his heart with many
a joy.

We havethree
glimpseswithin the doors of this
home when the beloved guest was there. The first shows us the Master and his
disciples one day entering the village. It was Martha who received him. Martha
was the mistress of the house. "She had a sister called Mary," a younger sister.

Then we
have a picture—as if someone had photographed the scene. We see Mary drawing up
a low stool, and sitting down at the Master's feet to listen to his words. We
see Martha hurrying about the house, busy preparing a meal for the visitors who
had come in suddenly. This was a proper thing to do; it was needful thathospitality
be shown. There is a word in the record, however, which tells us that Martha
was not altogether serene as she went about her work. "But Martha wasdistractedby
all the preparations that had to be made."

Perhaps
there are many modern Christian housekeepers who would be somewhat distracted,
if thirteen hungry men dropped in suddenly some day, and they had to entertain
them, preparing them a meal. Still, the lesson unmistakably is that Martha
should not have beenfretted;
that she should have kept sweet amid all the pressure of work that so burdened
her.

It was
not quite right for her to show herimpatiencewith
Mary as she did. Coming into the room, flushed and excited, and seeing Mary
sitting quietly and unconcernedly at the Master's feet, drinking in his words,
she appealed to Jesus, "Lord, don't you care that my sister has left me to do
the work by myself? Tell her to help me!" I am not sure that Martha was wrong or
unreasonable in thinking that Mary should have helped her. Jesus did not say she
was wrong; he only reminded Martha that she ought not to let things fret and vex
her. "Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things." It was
not herservingthat
he reproved—but thefret that
she allowed to creep into her heart.

The
lesson is, that however heavy our burdens may be, however hurried or pressed we
may be—we should always keep the peace of Christ in our heart. This is one of
the problems of Christian living—not to live without cares, which is
impossible—but to keep quiet and sweet in the midst of the most cumbering care.

At the
second mention of the Bethany home, there is soredistressin
it. A beloved one is very sick—sick unto death! Few homes are entire strangers
to the experience of those days, when the sufferer lay in the burning fever.
Loveministeredandprayed
andwaited. Jesus was far
away—but word was sent to him. He came at length—but seemed to havecome
too late. "If only you had been here!" the sisters said, each separately,
when they met the Master.

But we
see now, thefinished providence—and
not the merefragmentof
it which the sisters saw; and we know he came at the right time. He comforted
the mourners, and then he blotted out the sorrow, bringing back joy to the home.

The third
picture of this home shows us afestalscene.
A dinner was given in honor of Jesus. It was only a few days before his death.
Here, again, the sisters appear, each true to her own character.Marthais
serving, as she always is; and againMaryis
at Jesus' feet. This time she is showing her wonderful love for the friend who
has done so much for her. The ointment she pours upon him, is an emblem of her
heart's pure affection.

Mary's
act was very beautiful. Love was the motive. Without love—no service, however
great or costly, is of any value in God's sight. The world may applaud—but God
turns away with indifference when love is lacking. "If I give all I possess to
the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love—I gain nothing."
But love makes the smallest deed as radiant as angel ministry. We need not try
doing things for Christ—until we love him. It would be like putting rootless
stalks in a garden-bed, expecting them to grow into blossoming plants. Love must
be the root. It was easy for Mary to bring her alabaster jar, for her heart was
full of overwhelming love.

Serviceis
thefruit of love. It is not
all of its fruit.Characteris
part too. If we love Christ, we will have Christ's beauty in our soul. Mary grew
wondrously gentle and lovely—as Christ's words entered her heart. Friendship
with Christ—makes us like Christ. But there will be service too. Love is like
light—it cannot be hidden. It cannot be shut up in the heart. It will not be
imprisoned and restrained. It willliveandspeak
andact. Love in the heart
of Jesus—brought him from heaven down to earth to be the lost world's Redeemer.
Love in his apostles—took them to the ends of the earth to tell the gospel story
to the perishing world.

It is not
enough to try to hew and fashion a character into the beauty of holiness, until
every feature of the image of Christ shines in the life, as the sculptor shapes
the marble into the form of his vision. The most radiant spiritual beauty, does
not make one a complete Christian. It takesserviceto
fill up the measure of the stature of Christ. The young man said he had kept all
the commandments from his youth. "One thing you lack," said the Master; "sell
all that you have, and give to the poor."Service
of lovewas needed to make that
morally exemplary life complete.

The
lesson is needed by many Christian people. They are good, with blameless life,
flawless character, consistent conduct; but they lack one thing—service.
Love for Christ—should always serve Christ's people.

There is
afableof
one who set to work to paint the pages of the Apocalypse, after the custom of
his time. He became so absorbed in his delightful occupation, that he neglected
the poor and the sick who were suffering and dying in the plague. He came at
last, in the course of his work, to the painting of the face of his Lord in the
glory of his second coming; but his hand had lost its skill. He wondered why it
was, and realized that it was because, in his eagerness to paint his pictures,
he had neglected his duty of serving.

Rebuffed
and humiliated by the discovery, he drew his hood over his head, laid aside his
brushes, and went down among the sick and dying to minister to their needs. He
wrought on, untiringly, until he himself was smitten with the fatal plague. Then
he tottered back to his cell and to his easel, to finish his beloved work before
he died. He knelt in prayer to ask help, when, lo! he saw that an angel's hand
had completed the picture of the glorified Lord, and in a manner far surpassing
human skill.

It is
only alegend—but its lesson
is well worthy our serious thought. Too many people in their life as Christians,
while they strive to excel in character, in conduct, and in the beautiful graces
of disposition, and to do their work among men faithfully, are forgetting
meanwhile thelaw of lovewhich
bids every follower of Christ go about doing good—as the Master did. To be a
Christian is far more than to be honest, truthful, sober, industrious, and
decorous; it is also to be across-bearerafter
Jesus; to love men, and to serve them. Ofttimes it is to leave your fine room,
your favorite work, your delightful companionship, your pet self-indulgence, and
to go out among the needy, the suffering, the sinning—to try to do them good.
The man above, could not paint the face of the Lord while he was neglecting
those who needed his ministrations and went unhelped, because he did not
minister to them. Nor can any Christian paint the face of the Master in its full
beauty on his soul—while he is neglecting any service of love.

We may
follow a little the story of what happenedafterMary
brought her alabaster jar. Some of the disciples of Jesus were angry. There
always are some who find fault with the way other people show their love for
Christ. It is so even in Christian churches. One member criticizeswhatanother
does, or thewayhe
does it. It will be remembered that it wasJudaswho
began this blaming of Mary. He said the ointment would better have been sold,
and the proceeds given to the poor. John tells us very sadly the real motive of
thispious complaining, "He
did not say this because he cared about the poor—but because he was a thief. He
was in charge of the money-bag and would steal part of what was put in it.

Jesus
came to Mary's defense very promptly, and in a way that must have wonderfully
comforted her hurt heart. It is a grievous sin against another, to find fault
with any sweet, beautiful serving of Jesus which the other may have done.
Christ's defense and approval of Mary should be a comfort to all who find their
deeds of love criticized or blamed by others.

"Leave
her alone! Why are you bothering her? She has done a beautiful thing to me!" The
disciples had said it was awaste.
That is what some people say about much that is done for Christ. The life is
wasted, they say, which is poured out in self-denials and sacrifices to bless
others. But really the wasted lives—are those which are devoted to pleasure and
sin. Those who live a merely worldly life—are wasting what it took the dying of
Jesus to redeem. Oh, howpitifulmuch
of fashionable, worldly life must appear to the angels!

"She has
done what she could!" That was high praise. She had brought herbestto
her Lord. Perhaps some of us make too much of our little acts and trivial
sacrifices. Little things are acceptable, if they are really our best. But
Mary's deed was not a small one. The ointment she brought was very costly. She
did not use just alittleof
this precious nard—but poured itallout
on the head and feet of Jesus. "What she could" was thebestshe
had to give.

We may
take a lesson. Do we always give our best to Christ? He gave his best for us—and
is ever giving his best to us. Do we not too often give him only what is
left—after we have served ourselves? Then we try to soothe an uneasy conscience,
by quoting the Master's commendation of Mary, "She has done what she could." Ah,
Mary's "what she could" was a most costly service. She gave the costliest of all
her possessions. The word of Jesus about her and her gift—has no possible
comfort for us ifour littleis
notour best. The widow's two
mites were her best, small though the money value was—she gave all she had. The
poor woman's cup of cold water was all she could give. But if we give only atrifleout
of our abundance, we are not "doing what we could."

It is
worthy of notice that the alabaster jar itself wasbrokenin
this holy service. Nothing was kept back.Broken
thingshave an important place in
the Bible. Gideon's pitchers were broken as his men approached the enemy. Paul
and his companions escaped from the sea on broken pieces of the ship. It is thebroken
heartthat God accepts. The body
of Jesus was broken—that it might become bread of life for the world.

Out ofsorrow's
broken thingsGod builds up
radiant beauty. Broken earthly hopes, become ofttimes the beginnings of richest
heavenly blessings. We do not get the best out of anything—until it is broken.

Even
sorrow is not too great a price to pay for the blessings which can come only
through grief and pain. We must not be afraid to bebrokenif
that is God's will; that is the way God would make us vessels fit for his
service. Only by breaking the alabaster vase, can the ointment that is in it
give out its rich perfume.

"She
poured perfume on my body beforehand to prepare for my burial." I like the wordbeforehand.
Nicodemus, after Jesus was dead, brought a large quantity of spices and
ointments to put about his body when it was laid to rest in the tomb. That was
well; it was a beautiful deed. It honored the Master. We never can cease to be
grateful to Nicodemus, whose long-timeshy
loveat last found such noble
expression, in helping to give fitting burial to him whom we love so deeply. But
Mary's deed was better; she brought her perfume beforehand, when it could give
pleasure, comfort, and strengthening, to the Master in his time of deepest
sorrow. We know that his heart was gladdened by the act of love. It made his
spirit a little stronger for the events of that last sad week. "She has done a
beautiful thing to me!"

We should
get a lesson infriendship's
ministry. Too many wait until those they love are dead—and then bring their
alabaster jars of affection and break them. They keep silent about their love
when words would mean so much, would give such cheer, encouragement, and
hope—and then, when the friend lies in the coffin, their lips are unsealed, and
speak out their glowing tribute on ears that heed not the laggard praise.

Many
people go through life, struggling bravely with difficulty, temptation, and
hardship, carrying burdens too heavy for them, pouring out their love in
unselfish serving of others—and yet are scarcely ever cheered by a word of
approval or commendation, or by delicate tenderness of friendship; then, when
they lie silent in death, a whole circle of admiring friends gathers to do them
honor. Everyone remembers a personal kindness received, a favor shown, some help
given, and speaks of it in grateful words. Letters full of appreciation,
commendation, and gratitude are written to sorrowing friends. Flowers are sent
and piled around the coffin, enough to have strewn every hard path of the long
years of struggle.

How
surprised some good men and women would be, after lives with scarcely a word of
affection to cheer their hearts, were they to awake suddenly in the midst of
their friends, a few hours after their death, and hear the testimonies that are
falling from every tongue, the appreciations, the grateful words of love, the
rememberings of kindness! They had never dreamed in life—that they had so many
friends, that so many had thought well of them, that they were helpful to so
many!

After a
long and worthy life, given up to lowly ministry, a godly minister was called
home. Soon after his death, there was a meeting of his friends, and many of them
spoke of his beautiful life. Incidents were given showing how his labors had
been blessed. Out of full hearts, one after another gave grateful tribute of
love. The minister's widow was present; and when all the kindly words had been
spoken, she thanked the friends for what they had said. Then she asked, amid her
tears, "But why did you never tell him these things—while he was living?"

Yes, why
not? He had labored for forty years in a most unselfish way. He had poured out
his life without stint. He had carried his people in his heart by day and by
night, never sparing himself in any way when he could be of use to one of God's
children. His people were devoted to him, loved him, and appreciated his labors.
Yet rarely, all those years, had any of them told him of the love that was in
their hearts for him, or of their gratitude for service given, or good received.
He was conscious of the Master's approval, and this cheered him—this was the
commendation he sought; but it would have comforted him many a time, and made
the burdens seem lighter and the toil easier and the joy of serving deeper—if
his people—those he loved and lived for, and helped in so many ways—had
sometimes told him how much he meant to them!

All about
US move, these common days, those who would be strengthened and comforted by the
good cheer which we could give. Let us not reserve all the flowers for
coffin-lids. Let us not keep our alabaster jars sealed and unbroken, until our
loved ones are dead. Let us show kindness—when kindness will do good. It will
make sorrow all the harder to bear—if we have to say beside our dead, "I might
have brightened the way a little if only I had been kinder."

It was
wonderful honoring which Jesus gave to Mary's deed, when he said that wherever
the gospel should be preached throughout the whole world—the story of this
anointing should be told. So, right in among the memorials of his own death,
this ministry of loveis
enshrined. As the fragrance of the ointment filled all the room where the guests
sat at table, so thearoma of
Mary's lovefills all the
Christian world today. The influence of her deed, with the Master's honoring of
it, has shed a blessing on countless homes, making hearts gentler, and lives
sweeter and truer!

11.
Jesus Comforting His Friends

A gospel
with no comfort for sorrow—would not meet the deepest needs of human hearts. If
Jesus were a friend only for bright hours, there would be much of experience
into which he could not enter. But the gospel breathes comfort on every page;
and Jesus is a friend forlonelyhours
and times ofgriefandpain—as
well as for sunny paths and days of gladness and song. He went to a marriage
feast, and wrought his first miracle to prolong the festivity; but he went also
to the home of grief, and turned its sorrow into joy.

It is
well worth our while—to study Jesus as a comforter, to learn how he comforted
his friends. For one thing, it will teachushow
to find consolation whenweare
in trouble. This is a point at which, with many Christians, the gospel seems
oftenest to fail. In the days of the unbroken circle and of human gladness, the
friends of Jesus rejoice in his love, and walk in his light with songs; but when
ties are broken, and griefenters
the home—the hearts that were so full of praise, refuse to take the consolation
of the gospel. This ought not so to be. If we knewChrist
as our comforter, we would sing our songs of trust, even in thenight.

Another
help that we may get from such a study of Jesus, will be power to become a true
comforter of others. This every Christian should seek to be—but this very few
Christians really are. Most of us wouldbetter
stay awayaltogether from our
friends in their times of sorrow, than go to them as we do. Instead of being
comforters to make them stronger to endure—we only make their grief seem
bitterer, and their loss more unendurable, doing them harm instead of good! This
is because we have not learnedthe
art of giving comfort. Our Master should be our teacher; and if we study his
method, we shall know how to be a blessing to our friends in their times of loss
and pain.

Much of
the ministry of Jesus—was with those who were in trouble. There was one special
occasion, however, when there was a great sorrow in the circle of his best
friends. We may learn many lessons if we read over thoughtfully, the story of
the way Jesus comforted them.

It was
the Bethany home. Before the sorrow came, Jesus was a familiar guest, a close
and intimate friend of the members of the household. He always had kindly
welcome and generous hospitality when he came to their door. They did not make
his acquaintance for the first time—when their hearts were broken. They had
known him for a long time, and had listened to his gracious words—when there was
no grief in their home. This made it easy to turn to him and to receive his
comfort—when the dark days of sorrow came.

There are
some who think of Christ—only asa
friend whom they will need in trouble. In their time of unbroken gladness,
they do not seek his friendship. Then, when trouble comes suddenly, they do not
know how or where to findthe
Comforter. Wiser far, are those who take Christ into their life in the glad
days, when the joy is unbroken. He blesses their joy. A happy home is all the
happier, because Jesus is a familiar guest in it. Love is all the sweeter,
because of his blessing. Then, when sorrow's shadow falls—there is light in the
darkness.

There
seems to be no need of thestarsin
thedaytime, for thesunshinethen
floods all earth's paths. But when the sun goes down, and God's great splendor
of stars appears hanging over us, dropping their soft, quiet light upon us—how
glad we are that they were there all the while, waiting to be revealed!

So it is
that the friendship of Jesus in the happy years hangs above our heads, the
starsof heavenly comfort. We do
not seem to need them at the time, and we scarcely know that they are there; we
certainly have no true realization of the blessing that hides in the shining
words. But when, one sad day, the light of human joy is suddenly darkened,
then the divine comforts reveal themselves. We do not have to hasten here and
there in pitiable distress, trying to find consolation, for we have it already
in the love and grace of Christ. The Friend we took into our life in thejoy-daysstands
close beside us now in our sadness—and his friendship never before seemed so
precious, so tender, so divine.

When
Lazarus fell sick, Jesus was in another part of the country. As the case grew
hopeless, the sisters sent a message to Jesus to say,"He
whom you love is sick." The message seems remarkable. There was no urgency
expressed in it, no wild, passionate pleading that Jesus would hasten to come.
Its few words told of the quietness and confidence of trusting hearts. We get a
lesson concerning the way we should pray when we are in distress. "Your Father
knows what things you have need of," and there is no need for piteous clamor.
Far better is the prayer of faith, which lays the burden upon the divine heart,
and leaves it there without anxiety. It is enough, when a beloved one is lying
low, to say, "Lord, he whom you love is sick."

We are
surprised, as we read the narrative, that Jesus did not respond immediately to
this message from his friends. But he waited two days before he set out for
Bethany. We cannot tell why he did this—but there is something very comforting
in the words that tell us of the delay. "Now Jesus loved Martha, and her sister,
and Lazarus. When, therefore, he heard that Lazarus was sick—he abode two days
in the place where he was." In some way, thedelaywas
because of hislovefor
all the household. Perhaps the meaning is that through the dying of Lazarus,
blessing would come to them all.

At length
he reached Bethany. Lazarus had been dead for four days. The family had many
friends; and their house was filled with those who had come, after the custom of
the times, toconsolethem.
Jesus lingered at some distance from the house, perhaps not caring to enter
among those who in the conventional way were mourning with the family. He wished
to meet the sorrowing sisters in a quiet place alone. So he tarried outside the
village, probably sending a message to Martha, telling her that he was coming.
Soon Martha met him.

We may
think of the eagerness of her heart to get into his presence, when she heard
that he was near. What a relief it must have been to her, after the noisy grief
that filled her home—to get into the quiet, peaceful presence of Jesus! He was
not disturbed. His face was full of sympathy, and it was easy to see there the
tokens of deep and very real grief—but his peace was not broken. He was calm and
composed. Martha must have felt herself at once comforted by his mere presence.
It was quieting and reassuring.

The first
thing to do when we need comfort—is to get into the presence of Christ. Humanfriendship
means well, when it hastens to us in our sorrow. It feels that it must do
something for us—that to stay away and do nothing would be unkindness. Then,
when it comes, it feels that it musttalk,
and must talk aboutour sorrow.
It feels that it must go over all the details, questioning us until it seems as
if our heart would break with answering. Our friends think that they must
explore with us—all the depths of our grief, dwelling upon the elements that are
specially poignant. The result of all this "comforting", is that our burden of
sorrow is madeheavierinstead
of lighter, and we are less brave and strong than before to bear it! If we would
be truly comforted, we would better flee away to Christ; for in his presence we
shall find consolation, which gives peace and strength and joy.

It is
worth our while, to note the comfort which Jesus gave to these sorrowing
sisters. First, he lifted the veil, and gave them a glimpse of what lies beyond
death, "Your brother shall rise again." "I am the resurrection and the life. He
who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and
believes in me will never die!" Thus he opened a great window into the eternal
world. It is plainer to us—than it could be to Martha and Mary; for a little
while after he spoke these words, Jesus himself passed through death, coming
again from the grave in immortal life. It is a wonderful comfort to those who
sorrow over the departure of a Christian friend—to know the true teaching of the
New Testament on the subject ofdying.
Death is not the end; it is adoorwhich
leads into fullness of life.

Perhaps
many in bereavement, though believing the doctrine of a future resurrection,
fail to getpresent comfortfrom
it. Jesus assured Martha that her brother should rise again. "Yes, I know that
he shall rise again in the resurrection at the last day." Her words show that
this hope was too distant to give her much comfort. Her sense of present loss,
outweighed every other thought and feeling. She craved back again, the
companionship she had lost. Who that has stood by the grave of a precious
friend, has not experienced the same feeling of inadequateness in the
consolation that comes from even the strongest belief in a far-off rising again,
of all who are in their graves?

The reply
of Jesus to Martha's hungry heart-cry, was very rich in its comfort. "Iam
the resurrection!" This is one of thewonderful
present tensesof Christian hope.
Martha had spoken of a resurrection far away. "Iamthe
resurrection!" Jesus declared. It was somethingpresent,
not remote. His words embrace the whole blessed truth of immortal life. "Whoever
lives and believes on me—shall never die." There is no death—for those who are
in Christ. Thebodydies—but
thepersonlives
on. The resurrection may be in the future—but really there is no break in the
life of a believer in Christ. He is not here; our eyes see him not, our ears
hear not his voice, we cannot touch him with our hands—but he still lives and
thinks and feels and loves. No power in his being has been quenched by dying, no
beauty dimmed, no faculty destroyed.

This is a
part of the comfort which Jesus gave to his friends in their bereavement. He
assured them that there is no death, that all who believe in him have eternal
life. There remains for those who stay here—the pain of separation and of
loneliness—but for those who have passed over, we need have no fear.

How does
Jesus comfort his friends who are left? As we read over the story of the sorrow
of the Bethany home, we find the answer to our question. You say, "He brought
back their dead, thus comforting them with the literal undoing of the work of
death and grief. If only he would do this now, in every case where love cries to
him, that would be comfort indeed!" But we must remember that the return of
Lazarus to his home, was only a temporary restoration. He came back to the old
life of mortality, of temptation, of sickness and pain and death. He came back
only for a season. It was not a resurrection to immortal life; it was only arestorationto
mortal life. He must pass again through the mystery of dying, and his sisters
must a second time experience the agony of separation and loneliness. We can
scarcely call it comfort; it was merely apostponementfor
a little while, of the final separation.

But Jesus
gave the sisters true consoling, besides this. His merepresencebrought
them comfort. They knew that he loved them. Many times before when he had
entered their home—he had brought a blessing. They had a feeling of security and
peace in his presence. Even their inconsolable grief lost something of its
poignancy, when the light of his face fell upon them. Every strong, tender, and
true human love—has a wondrous comforting power. We can pass through a sore
trial—if a trusted friend is beside us. The believer can endure any sorrow—if
Jesus is with him.

Another
element of comfort for these sorrowing sisters—was in thesympathy
of Jesus. He showed this sympathy with them in coming all the way from
Perea, to be with them in their time of distress. He showed it in his bearing
toward them and his conversation with them. There is a wonderful gentleness in
his manner as he receives first one and then the other sister. Mary's grief was
deeper than Martha's. "When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who had come
along with her also weeping—he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled." Then,
in the shortest verse in the Bible, we have a window into the very heart of
Christ, and find there most wonderful sympathy.

"Jesus
wept." It is a great comfort in time of sorrow, to have even human sympathy, to
know that somebody cares, that someone feels with us. The measure of the comfort
in such cases, is in proportion to the honor in which we hold the person. It
would have had very much comfort for the sisters—ifJohnorPeterorJameshad
wept with them beside their brother's grave. But thetears
of Jesusmeant incalculably more;
they told of theholiest sympathythat
this world ever saw—the Son of God wept with two sisters, in a great human
sorrow.

This
shortest verse was not written merely as a fragment of a narrative—it contains a
revealing of the heart of Jesus for all time. Wherever a friend of Jesus is
sorrowing, One stands by, unseen, who shares the grief, whose heart feels every
pang of the sorrow. There is immeasurable comfort in this thought: that the Son
of God sympathizes with us in our sufferings and afflictions. We can endure our
trouble more quietly—when we know that God understands all about it.

There is
yet another thing in themannerof
Christ's comforting his friends which is very suggestive. His sympathy was not amere
sentiment. Too often human sympathy is nothing but asentiment.
Our friends cry with us, and then pass by on the other side. They tell us they
are sorry for us—but they do nothing tohelpus.
The sympathy of Jesus at Bethany, was very practical. Not only did he show his
love to his friends by coming away from his work in another province, to be with
them in their sore trouble; not only did he speak to them words of divine
comfort, words which have made a shining track through the world ever since; not
only did he weep with them in their grief—but he wrought the greatest of all his
many miracles, to restore the joy of their hearts and their home. It was a
costly miracle, too—for it led to his own death!

Yet, well
knowing what would come from this ministry of friendship, he hesitated not. For
some reason he saw that it would be indeed a blessing to his friends—to bring
back the dead. It was because he loved the sisters and the brother, that he
lingered two days—and did not hasten when the message reached him beyond the
river. We may be sure, therefore, that the raising of Lazarus, though only to a
little more of the old life of weakness, had a blessing in it for the
family. This was the best way in which Jesus could show his sympathy—the best
comfort he could give his friends.

No doubt
thousands of other friends of Jesus in the sorrow of bereavement, have wished
that he would comfort them in like way—by giving back their beloved. Ofttimes he
does what is in effect, the same—in answer to the prayer of faith, he spares the
lives of those who are dear. When we pray for our sick friends, we only ask
submissively that they may recover. "Not my will—but may Your will be done," is
the refrain of our pleading. Even our most passionate longing, we subdue in the
quiet confidence of our faith. If it is not best for our dear ones; if it would
not be a real blessing; if it is not God's way—then "May Your will be done." If
we pray the prayer of faith, we must believe that the outcome, whatever it may
be, isGod's bestfor
us.

If our
friend is taken away after such committing of faith to God's wisdom and love,
there is immeasurable comfort at once in the confidencethat
it was God's will. Then, while no miracle is wrought, bringing back our
dead, thesympathy of Christyet
brings practical consolation. The wordcomfortmeansstrengthening.
We are helped tobearour
sorrow.

The
teaching of the Scriptures, is that when we come with our trials to God—he
either relieves us of them, or gives us the grace we need to endure them. He
does not promise to lift away the burden that we cast upon him—but he will
sustain us in our bearing of the burden. When the human presence is taken from
us, Christ comes nearer than before, and reveals to us more of his love and
grace.

The
problem ofsorrow in a Christian
life, is a very serious one. It is important that we have a clear
understanding upon the subject, that we may receive blessing and not hurt from
our experience. Every sorrow that comes into our life—brings us something good
from God; but we may reject the good, and if we do, we receive evil instead. The
comfort God gives, is not the taking away of the trouble, nor is it the dulling
of our heart's sensibilities so that we shall not feel the pain so keenly. God's
comfort isstrengthto
endure in the experience. If we put our life into the hands of Christ in the
time of sorrow, and with quiet faith and sweet trust go on with our duty—all
shall be well. If we resist and struggle and rebel—we shall not only miss the
blessing of comfort that is enfolded for us in our sorrow—but we shall receive
hurt in our own life. When one is soured and embittered by trial, one has
received hurt rather than blessing; but if we accept our sorrow with love and
trust, we shall come out of it enriched in life and character, and prepared for
better work and greater usefulness.

There is
a picture of a woman sitting by the sea in deep grief. The dark waters have
swallowed up herheart's treasure,
and her sorrow is inconsolable. Close behind her is an angel striking his
harp—the Angel of Consolation. But the woman in her stony grief sees not the
angel's shining form, nor hears the music of his harp. Too often this is the
picture in Christian homes. With all the boundlessness of God's love and mercy,
the heart remains uncomforted.

This
ought not so to be. There is in Jesus Christ an infinite resource of
consolation, and we have only to open our heart to receive it. Then we shall
pass through sorrow sustained by divine help and love, and shall come from it
enriched in character, and blessed in every phase of life. The griefs of our
life set lessons for us to learn. In every pain—is the seed of a blessing. In
every tear—a rainbow hides.

12.
Jesus and His SECRET Friends

Not all
the friends of Jesus wereopenfriends.
No doubt manybelievedon
him who had not the courage toconfesshim.
Two of his secret friends performed such an important part at the close of his
life, boldly honoring him—that the story of their discipleship is worthy of our
careful study.

One of
these is mentioned several times; the other we meet nowhere until he suddenly
emerges from the shadows of his secret friendship, when the body of Jesus hung
dead on the cross, and boldly asks permission to take it away, and with due
honor bury it.

"Later,Joseph
of Arimatheaasked Pilate for the
body of Jesus. Now Joseph was a disciple of Jesus, butsecretlybecause
he feared the Jews. With Pilate's permission, he came and took the body away. He
was accompanied by Nicodemus, the man who earlier had visited Jesus at night.
Nicodemus brought a mixture of myrrh and aloes, about seventy-five pounds.
Taking Jesus' body, the two of them wrapped it, with the spices, in strips of
linen. This was in accordance with Jewish burial customs." John 19:38-40

"Now
there was a man namedJoseph,
a member of the Council, a good and upright man, who had not consented to their
decision and action. He came from the Judean town of Arimathea and he was
waiting for the kingdom of God. Going to Pilate, he asked for Jesus' body. Then
he took it down, wrapped it in linen cloth and placed it in a tomb cut in the
rock, one in which no one had yet been laid." Luke 23:50-53

Several
facts concerningJosephare
given in the Gospels. He was a rich man. Thus an ancient prophecy was fulfilled.
According to Isaiah, the Messiah was tomake
his grave with the rich. This prediction seemed very unlikely of
fulfillment, when Jesus hung on the cross dying. He had no burying-place of his
own, and none of his known disciples, could provide him with a tomb among the
rich. It looked as if his body must be cast into thePotter's
Fieldwith the bodies of the two
criminals who hung beside him. Then came Joseph, a rich man, and buried Jesus in
his own new tomb. "He made his grave with the rich."

Joseph
was a member of the Sanhedrin. This gave him honor among men, and he must have
been of good reputation to be chosen to so exalted a position. We are told also
that he was a good man and devout, and had not consented to the counsel and deed
of the court in condemning Jesus. Perhaps he had absented himself from the
meeting of the Sanhedrin when Jesus was before the court. If he was present, he
took no part in the condemning of the prisoner.

Then it
is said further that he was "a disciple of Jesus—but secretly, for fear of the
Jews." That is, he was one of the friends of Jesus, believing in his
Messiahship. We have no way of knowing how long he had been a disciple—but it is
evident that the friendship had existed for some time. We may suppose that
Joseph had sought Jesus quietly, perhaps by night, receiving instruction from
him, communing with him, drinking in his spirit; but he had never yetopenly
declared his discipleship.

The
reason for thishidingof
his belief in Jesus is frankly given, "for fear of the Jews." He lacked courage
to confess himself "one of this man's friends." We cannot well understand what
it would have cost Joseph, in his high place as a ruler, to say, "I believe that
Jesus of Nazareth is our Messiah!" It is easy for us to condemn him as lacking
in courage—but we must put ourselves back in his place, when we think of what he
failed to do. This wasbeforeJesus
was glorified. He was a lowly man of sorrows. Many of the common people had
followed him; but it was chiefly to see his miracles, and to gather benefit for
themselves from his power. There was only alittle
band of true disciples, and among these were none of the rulers and great
men of the people. There is no evidence that one rabbi, one member of the
Sanhedrin, one priest, one aristocratic or cultured Jew, was among the followers
of Jesus during his life!

It would
have taken amazing courage for one of these to confess Jesus as the Messiah, and
the cost of such avowal would have been incalculable. A number of years later,
when Christianity had become an acknowledged power in the world, Paul tells us
that he had to suffer the loss of all things in becoming a Christian. For
Joseph, a member of the highest court of the Jews, to have said to his
fellow-members in those days, before the death of Jesus, "I believe in this
Nazarene whom you are plotting to kill, and I am one of his disciples and
friends!" would have taken a courage which too few men possess.

However,
one need not apologize for Joseph. The record frankly admits his fault, his
weakness; for it is never a noble or a manly thing to be afraid of man or
devil—when duty is clear. Yet we are told distinctly that he wasreally
a discipleof Jesus; though it
was secretly, and though the reason for the secrecy was an unworthy one—fear of
the Jews. Jesus had not refused his discipleship, because of its impairment. He
had not said to him, "Unless you rise up in your place in the court-room, and
tell your associates that you believe in me, and are going to follow me—you
cannot be my disciple, and I will not have you as my friend." Evidently Jesus
had accepted Joseph as a disciple, even in the shy way he had come to him; and
it seems probable that a close and deep friendship existed between the two men.
Possibly it may have existed for many months; and no doubt Joseph had been a
comfort to Jesus in many ways before his death, although the world did not know
that this noble and honorable councilor, was his friend at all.

The other
secret friend of Jesus who assisted in his burial wasNicodemus.
It was during the early weeks or months of our Lord's public ministry, that he
came to Jesus for the first time. It is specially mentioned thathe
came by night. Nicodemus also was a man of distinction—a member of the
Sanhedrin and a Pharisee, belonging thus to the class highest in rank among his
people.

A great
deal of blame has been charged against Nicodemus, because he came to Jesus by
night—but again we must put ourselves back into his circumstances before we can
judge intelligently and fairly of his conduct. Very few people believed in Jesus
when Nicodemus first sought him by night. Besides, may not night have been the
best time for a public and prominent man to see Jesus? His days were
filled—throngs were always about him, and there was little opportunity then for
earnest and satisfactory conversation. In the evening Nicodemus could sit down
with Jesus for a long, quiet talk without fear of interruption.

Then
Nicodemus came first only as aninquirer.
He was not then ready to be a disciple. "Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher
come from God," was all he could say that first night. He did not concede Jesus'
Messiahship. He knew him then only by what he had heard of his miracles. He was
not ready yet to declare that the son of the carpenter—was the Messiah, the Son
of God. When we remember the common Jewish expectations regarding the Messiah,
and then the lowliness of Jesus and the high rank of Nicodemus, we may
understand that it required courage and deep earnestness of soul, for this
"master in Israel" to come at all to thepeasant
rabbi from Galilee, as a seeker after truth and light. It is scarcely
surprising, therefore, that he came by night.

Then, at
that time the teaching and work of Jesus were onlybeginning.
There had been some miracles, and it is written that because of these, many had
believed in the name of Jesus. Already, however, there had been a sharp conflict
with the priests and rulers. Jesus had driven out those who were profaning the
temple, by using it for purposes of trade. This act had aroused intense
bitterness against Jesus, among the ruling classes to which Nicodemus belonged.
This made it specially hard for any of the rulers to come among the friends of
Jesus, or to show even the least sympathy with him.

No doubt
Nicodemus in some degree lacked the heroic quality. He was not a John Knox or a
Martin Luther. Each time his name is mentioned he shows timidity, and a
disposition to remain hidden. Even in the noble deed of the day Jesus died, it
is almost certain that Nicodemus was inspired to his part by the greater courage
of Joseph.

Yet we
must mark that Jesus said not one word to chide or blame Nicodemus, when he came
by night. Jesus accepted him as a disciple, and at once began to teach him the
great truths of his kingdom. We are not told that the ruler came more than once;
but we may suppose that whenever Jesus was in Jerusalem, Nicodemus sought him
under the cover of the night, and sat at his feet as a learner. Doubtless Jesus
and he were friends all the three years that passed between that first night
when they talked of the new birth, and the day when this noble councilor
assisted his fellow-member of the Sanhedrin in giving honorable and loving
burial to thisTeacher come from
God.

Once we
have a glimpse of Nicodemus, in his place in the Sanhedrin. Jesus has returned
to Jerusalem, and multitudes follow him to hear his words. Many believe on him.
The Pharisees and priests are filled with envy—that thispeasant
from Galilee should have such tremendous influence among the people. They
feel that the power is passing out of their hands, and that they must do
something to silence the voice the people so love to hear.

A meeting
of the Great Council is called to decide what to do. Officers are sent to arrest
Jesus, and bring him to the bar of the court. The officers find Jesus in the
temple, in the midst of an eager throng, to whom he is speaking in his gracious,
winning way. That was the day he said, "If any man thirsts—let him come unto me,
and drink." The officers listen as the wonderful words fall from his lips, and
they, too, become interested; their attention is enchained; they come under the
same spell which holds all the multitude. They linger until his discourse is
ended; and then, instead of arresting him, they go back without him, only giving
to the judges as reason for not obeying, "No one ever spoke the way this man
does!"

The
members of the court were enraged at this failure of their effort. Even their
own police officers had proved untrue! "Are you also deceived or led astray?"
they cry in anger. Then they ask, "Has any of the rulers or of the Pharisees
believed in him? No! But this mob that knows nothing of the law—there is a curse
on them!" They would have it, that only the ignorant masses had been led away by
this delusion; none of the great men, the wise men, had accepted this Nazarene
as the Messiah. They did not suspect that at leastoneof
their own number, possibly two—had been going by night to hear this young rabbi!

It was a
serious moment for Nicodemus. He sat there in the council, and saw the fury of
his brother judges. In his heart he was a friend of Jesus. He believed that he
was the Messiah. Loyalty to his friend, to the truth, and to his own conscience,
demanded that he should cast away theveilhe
was wearing, and reveal his faith in Jesus. At least he must say some word on
behalf of the innocent man whom his fellow-members were determined to destroy.

It was a
testing-time for Nicodemus—and great was the struggle betweentimidity
and a sense ofduty. The
storm in the court-room was ready to burst; the council was about takingviolent
measuresagainst Jesus. We know
not what would have happened, if no voice had been lifted forfair
trialbefore condemnation. But
then Nicodemus arose, and in the midst of the terrible excitement spoke quietly
and calmly his few words, "Does our law condemn anyone without first hearing him
to find out what he is doing?"

It was
only aplea for fairness and for
justice; but it showed the working of a heart that would be true to itself,
in some measure at least, in spite of its shyness and shrinking, and in spite of
the peril of the hour. The question at first excited anger and contempt against
Nicodemus himself; but itcheckedthe
gathering tides of violence, probably preventing a public outbreak.

We may
noteprogress in the friendshipof
this secret disciple. During the two years since he first came to Jesus by
night, the seed dropped into his heart that night had been growing silently.
Nicodemus was not yet ready to come out boldly as a disciple of Jesus; but he
proved himself the friend of Jesus, even by the few words he spoke in the
council when it required firm courage to speak at all. "He who at the first
could come to Jesus only by night—now stands by him in open day, and in the face
of the most formidable opposition, before which the courage of the strongest
might have quailed."

It is
beautiful to see young Christians, as the days pass, growing more and more
confidentandheroicin
their confession of Christ. At first they are shy, retiring, timid, and disposed
to shrink from public revealing of themselves. But if, as they receive more of
the Spirit of God in their heart, they grow more courageous in speaking for
Christ and in showing their colors—they prove that they are true disciples,
learners, growing in grace.

The only
other mention of Nicodemus, is some months after the heroic word spoken in the
council. What has been going on in his experience, meanwhile, we do not know.
There is no evidence that he has yet declared himself a follower of Jesus. He is
still a secret disciple. But the hidden life in his heart, has still been
growing.

One day a
terrible thing happened. Jesus was crucified. In their fright and panic—all his
friends at first forsook him; some of them, however, gathering back, with broken
hearts, stood around his cross. But never was there a morehopeless
company of menin this world—than
the disciples of Jesus that Good Friday, when their Master hung upon the cross.
They did not understandthe
meaning of the cross—as we do today—they thought it meant defeat for all the
hopes they had cherished. They stood round the cross in the despair of hopeless
grief.

They were
also powerless to do anything to show their love, or to honor the body of their
Friend. They were poor and unknown men, without influence. None of them had agravein
which the body could be laid. Nor had theypowerto
get leave to take the body away; it required a name of influence to get this
permission. Theirlovewas
equal to anything—but they werehelpless.
In the dishonor of that day, all the friends of Jesus shared.

What
could be done? Soon the three bodies on the crosses would be taken down by crude
hands of heartless men—and cast into the Potter's Field in an indistinguishable
heap!

But no!
There is a friend at Pilate's door. He is a man of rank among the Jews—a rich
man too. He makes a strange request—he asks permission to take the body of Jesus
away for burial. Doubtless Pilate was surprised that a member of thecourt
which had condemned Jesus,should
now desire to honor his body—but he granted the request; perhaps he was glad
thus to end a case which had cost him so much trouble. Joseph took charge of the
burial of the body of Jesus.

Then
another rich man came and joinedJoseph.
"He was accompanied byNicodemus,
the man who earlier had visited Jesus at night. Nicodemus brought a mixture of
myrrh and aloes, about seventy-five pounds. Taking Jesus' body, the two of them
wrapped it, with the spices, in strips of linen. This was in accordance with
Jewish burial customs." It certainly is remarkable that the two men who thus met
in honoring the body of Jesus—had both been hissecret
disciples, hidden friends, who until now, had not had courage to avow their
friendship and discipleship.

No doubt
there were many othersecret
friendsof Jesus who during his
life—did not publiclyconfess
him. The great harvest of the day of Pentecost brought out many of these for the
first time. No doubt there always are many wholoveChrist,believeon
him, and arefollowing him in
secret. They come to Jesusby
night. They creep to his feet—when no eye is looking at them. They cannot
brave the gaze of their fellow men. They are shy and timid. We may not say one
harsh word regarding such disciples. The Master said not one word implyingblame,of his secret
disciples.

Yet it
cannot be doubted, thatsecret
discipleship is incomplete. It is not just to Christ himself, that we should
receive the blessings of his love and grace—and not speak of him to the world.
We owe it to him who gave himself for us—to speak his name wherever we go, and
to honor him in every way. Secret discipleship does not fulfilllove's
duty to the world. If we have found that which has blessed us richly, we owe
it to others, to tell them about it. To hide away in our own heart the knowledge
of Christ—is to rob those who do not know of him. It is theworst
selfishnessto be willing to besaved
alone.

Further,
secret discipleship misses thefullness
of blessingwhich comes to the
one who confesses Christ before men. It is he who believes with his heart and
confesses with his mouth, who has promise of salvation.Public confessionof
Christ—is 'half of faith'. Secret discipleship is repressed, restrained,
confined, and is therefore hampered,hindered,
stunteddiscipleship. It never
can grow into the best possible strength and richness of life. It is only when
one stands before the world in perfect freedom, with nothing to conceal—that one
grows into the fullest, loveliest Christlikeness. To have the friendship of
Christ, and to hide it from men—is to lose its blessing out of our own heart.

In the
case ofNicodemusandJoseph—Jesus
was very gentle withtimidity;
but under the nurture of his gentleness, timidity grew intonoble
courage. Yet, beautiful as was their deed that day, who will not say that it
cametoo latefor
fullest honoring of the Master? It would have been better if they had shown
their friendship while he was living—to have cheered him by their love. Mary's
ointment poured upon the tired feet of Jesusbeforehis
death—was better than thespicesof
Nicodemus piled about his body in the grave!

13.
Jesus' FAREWELL to His Friends

At last
theendcame.
The end comes forevery earthly
friendship. The sweetest life together of loved ones—must have its last
walk, its last talk, its last hand-clasp. When one takes his final farewell—the
other stays. One of every two friends, must stand by the other's grave, and drop
tears all the hotter—because they are shed alone.

The
friendship of Jesus with his disciples was very sweet; it was the sweetest
friendship this world ever knew, for never was there any other heart with such
capacity for loving and for kindling love—as the heart of Jesus. But even this
holy friendship in its earthly duration—was but for a time. Jesus' hour came at
last. Tomorrow he was going back to his Father!

Very
tender was thefarewell. The
place chosen for it was the upper room—almost certainly in the house of Mary,
the mother of John-Mark. So full is the narrative of the evangelists, that we
can follow it through its minutest details. In the afternoon, two of the closest
friends of Jesus came quietly into the city from Bethany to find a room, and
prepare for the Passover. All was done with the utmost secrecy. No inquiry was
made for a room; but a man appeared at a certain point, bearing a pitcher of
water—a most unusual occurrence—and the messengers silently followed him, and
thus were led to the house in which was the guest-chamber which Jesus and his
friends were to use. There the two disciples made the preparations necessary for
the Passover.

Toward
the evening, Jesus and the other apostles came, and found their way to the upper
room. First there was thePassover
feast, observed after the manner of the Jews. Then followed the institution
of the new memorial—theLord's
Supper. This brought the Master and his disciples together in very sacred
closeness. Judas, the onediscordant
elementin the communion, had
gone out, and all who remained were of one mind and one heart. Then began the
real farewell. Jesus was going away—and he longed to beremembered.
This was a wonderfully human desire. No one wishes to be forgotten. No thought
could be sadder, than that one mightnotbe
remembered after he is gone, that in no heart his name shall be cherished, that
nowhere any mementoof him
shall be preserved. We all desire to live on—in the love of our friends, long
after our faces have vanished from earth. The deeper and purer our love may have
been, and the closer our friendship, the more do we long to keep our place in
the hearts of those we have loved.

There are
many ways in which men seek to keep theirmemory
alivein the world. Some build
their own tomb: few things are more pathetic than such planning for earthly
immortality. Some seek to dodeedswhich
will live in history. Some embalm their names inbooks,
hoping thus to perpetuate them. Butlove's
enshriningis the best way.

The
institution of the Last Supper, showed the craving of the heart of Jesus to be
remembered. "Do not forget me when I am gone!" he said. That he might not be
forgotten, he took bread and wine, and, breaking the one and pouring out the
other—he gave them to his friends asmementosof
himself. He associated thisfarewell
meal—with the great acts of his redeeming love. "Thisbreadwhich
I break—let it be the emblem of mybodybroken
to be bread for the world. Thiswinewhich
I empty out—let it be the emblem of mybloodwhich
I give for you."

Whatever
else the Lord's Supper may mean, it is first of all aremembrancer; it is the expression of the Master's desire to be
remembered by his friends. It comes down to us—Christ's friends of today—with
the same heart-craving. "Remember me! Do not forget me! Think of my love for
you!" Jesus' farewell was thus made wondrously sacred; its memories have blessed
the world ever since—by their warmth and tenderness. No one can ever know the
measure of the influence of that last night in the upper room, upon the life of
these nineteen Christian centuries.

The
Lord's Supper was not all of the Master's farewell. There were also words spoken
which have been bread and wine, the body and blood of Jesus—to believers ever
since. To the eleven men gathered about that table, these words were
inexpressibly precious. One of them, one who leaned his head upon the Master's
breast that night, remembered them in his old age, and wrote them down, so that
we can read them for ourselves.

It is
impossible in a short chapter, to study the whole of this wonderful farewell
address; only a few of its great features can be gathered together. It began
with an exhortation, anew
commandment, "That you love one another." We cannot understand howreally
new,this commandment was, when
given to the Master's friends. The world had never before known such love as
Jesus brought into its wintry atmosphere.He
had lived out the divine loveamong
men; now his friends were to continue that love. "As I have loved you—you also
should love one another." Very imperfectly have the friends of the Master
learned that love; yet wherever the gospel has gone, awave
of tendernesshas rolled.

Next was
spoken a word of comfort, whose music has been singing through the world ever
since. "Let not your heart be troubled: you believe in God, believe also in me."
Unless it be the Twenty-Third Psalm, no other passage in all the Bible has had
such a ministry of comfort, as the first words of the fourteenth chapter of
John's Gospel. They told the sorrowing disciples, that their Master would not
forget them, that his work for them would not be broken off by his death, that
he was only going away to prepare a place for them, and would come again to
receive them unto himself, so that where he would be—they would also be. He
assured them, too, that while he was going away, something better than his
bodily presence would be given them instead. AnotherComforterwould
come, so that they would not be left orphans.

Part of
the Master's farewell words, wereanswers
to questionswhich his friends
asked him—a series of conversations with one another. These men had their
difficulties; and they brought these to Jesus, and he explained them.

First,Peterhad
a question. Jesus had spoken ofgoing
away. Peter asked him, "Lord, where are you going?" Jesus told him that
where he was going—that Peter could not follow him then—but he would follow him
by and by. Peter was recklessly bold, and he would not have it said that there
was any place he could not follow his Master. He declared that he would even lay
down his life for his sake. "Will you lay down your life for my sake?" answered
the Master. "Will you, indeed?" Then he foretold Peter's sad, humiliating
fall—that, instead of laying down his life for his Lord.

After the
words had been spoken about the Father's house and the coming again of Jesus for
his friends,Thomashad
a question. Jesus had said, "You know the way to the place where I am going."
Thomas was slow in his perceptions, and was given to questioning. He
would take nothing for granted. He would not believe until he could understand.
"Lord, we do not know where you are going, so how can we know the way?" We are
glad Thomas asked such a question, for it brought a wonderful answer.

Jesushimselfis
the way and the truth and the life. That is, to know Christ is to know all that
we need to know about heaven, and the way there; to have Christ as Savior,
Friend, and Lord, is to be led by him through the darkest way—home. Not only is
he thedoororgatewhich
opens into the way—but he is theway.
He is theguidein
the way; he has gone over it himself; everywhere we find his footprints. More
than that; he is thevery way
itself, and the verytruthabout
the way, and thelifewhich
inspires us in the way. To be his friend is enough; we need ask neither where he
has gone, nor the road: we need only abide in him!

ThenPhiliphad
a question. He had heard the Master's reply to Thomas. Philip was slow and dull,
loyal-hearted, a man of practical common sense—but without imagination, unable
to understand anything spiritual, anything but bare, cold, material facts. The
words of Jesus aboutknowingandseeingthe
Father, caught his ear. That was just what he wanted—to see the Father. So in
his dullness he said, "Lord, show us the Father and that will be enough for us."
He was thinking of atheophany—a
glorious vision of God. Jesus was wondrously patient with the dullness of his
disciples; but this word pained him, for it showed how little Philip had learned
after all his three years of discipleship. "Have I been so long time with
you—and yet have you not known me?" Then Jesus told him that he had been showing
him the Father, the very thing Philip craved, all the while!

Jesus
went on with his gracious words for a little while, and was speaking of
manifesting himself to his disciples, when he was interrupted by another
question. This time it wasJudaswho
spoke. Not "Judas Iscariot," John is careful to say, for the name of Iscariot
was now blotted with the blotch of treason. He had gone out into the night, and
was of thedisciple familyno
more. Judas could not understand in what special and exclusive manner, Jesus
would manifest himself to his own. Perhaps he expected some setting apart of
Christ's followers, like that which had fenced off Israel from the other
nations. But Jesus swept away his disciple's thought of any narrow
manifestation. There was only one condition—love. To everyone who loved him, and
obeyed his words—he would reveal himself. The manifesting would not be any
theophany, as in the ancient 'Shekinah glory'—but the spiritual in-dwelling of
God.

After
these questions of his disciples had all been answered, Jesus continued his
farewell words. He left severalbequeststo
his friends, distributing among them his possessions. We are apt to ask what he
had to leave. He had no houses or lands, no gold or silver. While he was on his
cross—the soldiers divided his clothes among themselves. Yet there arereal
possessionsbesides money and
estates. One may have won thehonor
of a noble name, and may bequeath this to his family when he goes away. One
may have acquiredpowerwhich
he may transmit. It seemed that night in the upper room—as if Jesus had neither
name nor power to leave to his friends. Tomorrow he was going to a cross, and
that would be the end of everything; of hope or beauty in his life.

Yet he
quietly made his bequests, fully conscious that he had great possessions which
would bless the world, infinitely more than if he had left any earthly treasure!

One of
these bequests was hispeace.
"Peace I leave with you; my peace I give unto you." It washis
ownpeace; if it had not been his
own—he could not have bequeathed it to his friends. A man cannot give to
others—what he has not himself. It was his own, because he had won it. Peace is
not merely ease, the absence of strife and struggle; it is something which lives
in the midst of the fiercest strife and the sorest struggle. Jesus knew not the
world's peace—ease and quiet; but he had learned a secret of heart-quietness
which the world at its worst could not disturb. This peace he left to his
disciples, and it made them richer, than if he had given them all the world's
wealth.

Another
of his possessions which he bequeathed was hisjoy.
We think of Jesus as theMan
of sorrows, and we ask what joy he had to give. It seemed a strange time,
too, for him to be speaking of his joy; for in another hour he would be in the
midst of theGethsemane anguish,
and tomorrow he would be on his cross! Yet in the upper room he had in his
heart—a most blessed joy. Even in the terrible hours that came afterwards, that
joy was not quenched; for we are told that for the joy set before him—he endured
the cross, despising the shame.

This joy
also he bequeathed to his friends. "These things have I spoken unto you, thatmy
joymay be in you." We remember,
too, that they really received this legacy. The world wondered at thestrange
secret of joythose men had when
they went out into the world. They sang songs in the darkest night. Their faces
shone as with a holy inner light, in the deepest sorrow.Christ's
joywas fulfilled in them.

He also
put within the reach of his friends, as he was about to leave them, thewhole
of his own inheritanceas the
only begotten Son of God. He gave into their hands, the key of heaven. He told
them they would have power to do the works which they had seen him do, and even
greater works than these. He told them that whatever they would ask the Father
in his name—the Father would give to them. The whole power of his name would
thus be theirs, and they might use it as they desired. Nothing they might ask
would be refused to them; all the heavenly kingdom was thrown open to them.

These are
mere suggestions of thefarewell
giftswhich Jesus left to his
friends when he went away—his peace, his joy, the key to all the treasures of
his kingdom. He had blessed them in wonderful ways during his life; but the best
and richest things of his love, were kept to the last, and given onlyafterhe
was gone. Indeed, the best things were giventhroughhis
death, and could be given in no other way.

Other menliveto
do good; they hasten tofinish
their workbefore their sun sets.
God's plan for them is something they must do before death comes to write
"Finis" at the end of their days. But the plan of God for Jesus, centered in his
death. It was the blessings that would come through his dying, that were set
forth in the elements used in the Last Supper—the body broken, the blood shed.
The great gifts to his friends, of which he spoke in his farewell words,would
come through his dying!He must
be lifted up on the cross—in order to draw all men to him. He must shed his
blood—in order that remission of sins might be offered. It was expedient for him
to go away—in order that the Comforter might come. His peace and his joy
were bequests which could be given—only when he had died as the world's
Redeemer. His name would have power to open heaven's treasures—only when the
atonement had been made, and the Intercessor was at God's right hand in heaven.

There was
one other act in this farewell of Jesus. After he had ended his gracious words,
he lifted up his eyes in prayer to his Father. The pleading is full of deep and
tender affection. It is like that of a mother about to go away from earth, and
who is commending her children to the care of the heavenly Father, when she must
leave them without mother-love and mother-shelter, among unknown and dangerous
enemies.

Every
word of the wonderful prayer throbs with love, and reveals a heart of most
tender affection. While he had been with his friends, Jesus had kept them in the
shelter of his own divine strength. None of them had been lost, so faithful had
been his guardianship over them—none but the son of perdition. He, too, had
received faithful care; it had not been the Good Shepherd's fault, that he had
perished. He had been lost, because he resisted the divine love, and would not
accept the divine will. There must have been a pang of anguish in the heart of
Jesus, as he spoke to his Father of the one who had perished. But the others all
were safe. Jesus had guarded them through all the dangers—up to the present
moment.

But now
he is about to leave them. He knows that they must encounter great dangers,
and will not have him there to protect them. The form of his intercession for
them is worthy of note. He does not ask that they should be taken out of the
world. This would have seemed the way of tenderest love. But it is not the
divine way to take us out of the battle. These friends of Jesus had been
trained to be his witnesses, to represent him when he had gone away. Therefore
they must stay in the world, whatever the dangers might be. "My prayer is not
that you take them out of the world—but that you protect them from the evil."
There is but one evil. They were not to be kept from persecution, from earthly
suffering and loss, from pain or sorrow: these are not the evils from which
men's lives need to be guarded. The only real evil is sin. Our danger in trouble
or adversity, is not that we may suffer—but that we may sin. The pleading of
Jesus was that his friends might not be hurt in their souls, by sin.

If
enemies wrong or injure us, the peril is not that they may cause us to suffer
injustice—but that in our suffering we may lose the love out of our heart, and
grow angry, or become bitter. In time of sickness, trial, or bereavement, that
which we should fear is not the illness or the sorrow—but that we shall not keep
sweet, with the peace of God in our heart.

The only
thing that can do us real harm—is sin. So the intercession on our behalf ever
is, not that we may be kept from things that are hard, from experiences that are
costly or painful—but that we may be kept pure, gentle, and submissive, with
peace and joy in our heart.

There was
a pleading also that the disciples might be led into complete consecration of
spirit, and that they might be prepared to go out for their Master, to be to the
world—what he had been to them.

This was
not a prayer for apath of roses;
rather it was for a cross, the utter devotion of their lives to God. Before the
prayer closed, a final wish for his friends was expressed—that when their work
on earth was done, they might be received home; that where he should be they
might be also, to behold his glory.

Surely
there never has been on earth, another gathering of such wondrously deep and
sacred meaning, as that farewell meeting in the upper room. There the friendship
of Jesus and his chosen ones reached its holiest experience. His deep human love
appears in his giving up the whole of this last evening to this tryst with his
own disciples. He knew what was before him after midnight—the bitter agony of
Gethsemane, the betrayal, the arrest, the trial—and then the terrible shame and
suffering of tomorrow. But he planned so that there should be these quiet,
uninterrupted hours alone with his friends, before the beginning of the
experiences of his passion.

He did it
for hisownsake;
his heart hungered for communion with his friends; with desirehe
desired to eat the Passover, and enjoy these hours with them before he suffered.
We may be sure, too, that he received from the holy fellowship comfort and
strength, which helped him in passing through the bitter hours that followed.

Then, he
did it also for the sake of hisdisciples.
He knew how their hearts would be broken with sorrow, when he was taken from
them, and he wished to comfort them and make them stronger for the way. The
memory of those holy hours hung over them—like a star in all the dark night of
their sorrow, and was a blessing to them as long as they lived.

Then, who
can tell what blessings have gone out from that farewell, into the whole Church
of Christ through all the centuries? It is theholy
of holiesof Christian history.
The Lord's Supper, instituted that night, and which has never ceased to be
observed as a memorial of the Master's wonderful love and great sacrifice, has
sweetened the world with its fragrant memories. The words spoken by the Master
at the table, have been repeated from lip to heart wherever the story of the
gospel has gone, and have given unspeakable comfort to millions of hearts. The
petitions of the great intercessory prayer, have been rising continually, like
holy incense, ever since they were first uttered, taking into their clasp, each
new generation of believers. This farewell has kept the Christian hearts of all
the centuries warm and tender with love toward him, who is the unchanging
Friend—the same yesterday and today and forever!

14.
Jesus as a Friend

The world
has always paid high honor tofriendship.
Some of the finest passages in all history, are the stories of noble
friendships—stories which are among the classics of literature. The qualities
which belong to anideal friendhave
been treated by many writers through all the centuries. But Jesus Christ brought
into the world, new standards for everything in human life. He was the one
complete Man—God's ideal for humanity. "Once in the world's history was born a
Man. Once in the roll of the ages, out of innumerable failures, from the stock
of human nature, one bud developed itself into a faultless flower. One perfect
specimen of humanity has God exhibited on earth." ToJesus,
therefore, we turn for thedivine
idealof everything in human
life. What is friendship as interpreted by Jesus? What are the qualities of a
true friend as illustrated in the life of Jesus?

It is
evident that he lifted theideal
of friendshipto a height to
which it never before had been exalted. He made all things new. Duty had a new
meaning, after Jesus taught and lived, and died and rose again. He presented
among men new conceptions of life, new standards of character, new thoughts of
what is worthy and beautiful. Not one of his beatitudes had a place among the
world's ideals of blessedness. They all had an unworldly, a spiritual basis. The
things he said that men should live for—were not the things which men had been
living for before he came. He showed new patterns for everything in life.

Jesus
presented a conception forfriendshipwhich
surpassed all the classical models. In his farewell to his disciples he gave
them what he called a "new commandment." The commandment was that his friends
should love one another. Why was this called anewcommandment?
Was there no commandment before Jesus came and gave it—that men should love one
another. Was thisrule of lovealtogether
new with him?

In theformin
which Jesus gave it, this commandment never had been given before. There was a
precept in the Mosaic law which at first seems to be the same as that which
Jesus gave—but it was not the same. It read, "You shall love your neighbor as
yourself." "As yourself" was the standard. Men were to love themselves, and then
love their neighbors as themselves. That was as far as the old commandment went.
But thenewcommandment
is altogether different."As I
have loved you"is its measure.
How did Jesus love his disciples? As himself? Did he keep a careful balance all
the while, thinking of himself, of his own comfort, his own ease, his own
safety, and going just that far and no farther in his love for his disciples?
No! it was a new pattern of love that Jesus introduced. He forgot himself
altogether, denied himself, never saved his own life, never hesitated at any
line or limit of service, of cost or sacrifice, in loving. He emptied himself,
kept nothing back, spared not his own life. This standard of friendship which
Jesus set for his followers, was indeed new. Instead of "Love your neighbor as
yourself," it was "Love as Jesus loved;" and he loved unto the uttermost!

When we
turn to the history of Christianity, we see that the type of friendship which
Jesus introduced, was indeed a new thing in the world. It was new in its motive
and inspiration. The love of the Mosaic law was inspired bySinai;
the love of the Christian law got its inspiration fromCalvary.
The one was only cold, stern law; the other was burning passion. The one was
enforced merely as a duty; the other was impressed by the wondrous love of
Christ. No doubt men loved God in the Old Testament days, for there were many
revealings of his goodness and his grace and love—in the teachings of those who
spoke for God to men. But wonderful as were these revelations, they could not
for a moment be compared with the manifestation of God which was made in Jesus
Christ. The Son of God came among men in human form, and in gentle and lowly
life—all the blessedness of the divine affection was poured out right before
men's eyes. At last there wasthe
cross, where the heart of God broke in love.

No wonder
that, with such inspiration, anew
type of friendshipappeared
among the followers of Jesus. We are so familiar with the life which
Christianity has produced, where the fruits of the Spirit have reached their
finest and best development, that it is well-near impossible for us to conceive
of the condition of human society as it was before Christ came. Of course, there
was love in the world before that day. Parents loved their children. There wasnaturalaffection,
which sometimes even in heathen countries was very strong and tender.
Friendships existed between individuals. History has enshrined the story of some
of these. There always were beautiful things in humanity—fragments of the divine
image remaining among the ruins of the fall.

But the
mutual love of Christians which began to show itself on the day of Pentecost
surpassed anything that had ever been known in even the most refined and gentle
society. It was indeeddivine lovein
new-born men. No merenatural
human affection could ever produce such fellowship as we see in the New
Testament church. It was a little ofheaven's
lifelet down upon earth. Those
who so loved one another were new men; they had been born again—born from above.
Jesus came to establish the kingdom of heaven upon the earth. In other words, he
came to make heaven in the hearts of his believing ones. That is what the new
friendship is. Acreeddoes
not make one a Christian; commandments, though spoken amid the thunders of
Sinai, will never produce love in a life. The new ideal of love which Jesus came
to introduce among men—was the love of God shed abroad in human hearts. "As I
have loved you—you also should love one another" was the new requirement.

Since,
then, the newideal of friendshipis
that which Jesus gave in his own life, it will be worth our while to make a
study of thisholy pattern,
that we may know how to strive toward it for ourselves.

We may
note thetendernessof
the friendship of Jesus. It has been suggested by an English preacher, that
Christ exhibited the blended qualities of both sexes. "There was in him the
womanly heart—as well as the manly brain." Yet tenderness is not exclusively a
womanly excellence; indeed, since tenderness can really coexist only with
strength, it is in its highest manifestation quite as truly a manly as a womanly
quality. Jesus was inimitably tender. Tenderness in him was never softness or
weakness. It was more like true motherliness, than almost any other human
affection; it was enfolding, protecting, nourishing love.

We find
abundant illustrations of this quality in the story of the life of Jesus. The
most kindly and affectionate men are sure sometime to reveal at least a shade of
harshness, coldness, bitterness, or severity. But in Jesus there was never anyfailure
of tenderness. We see it in his warm love for John, in his regard for little
children, in his compassion for sinners who came to his feet, in his weeping
over the city which had rejected him and was about to crucify him, in his
thought for the poor, in his compassion for the sick.

Another
quality of the friendship of Jesus waspatience.
In all his life he never once failed in this quality. We see it in his treatment
of his disciples. They were slow learners. He had to teach the same lesson over
and over again. They could not understand his character. But he wearied not in
his teaching. They were unfaithful, too, in their friendship for him. In a time
of alarm they all fled, while one of them denied him, and another betrayed him.
But never once was there the slightest impatience shown by him. Having loved his
own, he loved them unto the uttermost, through all dullness and all
unfaithfulness. He suffered unjustly—but bore all wrong in silence. He never
lost his temper. He never grew discouraged, though all his work seemed to be in
vain. He never despaired of making beauty out of deformity in his disciples. He
never lost hope of any soul. Had it not been for this quality of unwearying
patience, nothing would ever have come from his interest in human lives.

The
friendship of Jesus wasunselfish.
He did not choose those whose names would add to his influence, who would help
him to rise to honor and renown; he chose lowly, unknown men—whom he could lift
up to worthy character. His enemies charged against him that he was thefriend
of publicans and sinners. In a sense this was true. He came to be a Savior
oflostmen.
He said he was a physician; and a physician's mission is among thesick—not
among the whole and well.

The
friendship of Jesus was not checked or foiled by the discovery offaultsor
blemishesin those whom he had
taken into his life. Even in our ordinary human relations, we do not know what
we are engaging to do, when we become the friend of another. "For better for
worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health," runs the marriage
covenant. The covenant in alltrue
friendshipis the same. We pledge
our friend faithfulness, with all that faithfulness includes. We know not what
demands upon us, this sacred compact may make in years to come. Misfortune may
befall our friend, and he may require our aid in many ways. Instead of being a
help—he may become a burden. But friendship must not fail, whatever its cost may
be. When we become the friend of another—we do not know whatfaultsandfolliesin
him, closer acquaintance may disclose to our eyes. But here, again, ideal
friendship must not fail.

What is
true in common human relations, was true in a far more wonderful way of the
friendship of Jesus. We have only to recall the story of his three years with
his disciples. They gave him at the best—a very feeble return for his great love
for them. They were inconstant, weak, foolish, untrustful. They showed personal
ambition, striving for first places, even at the Last Supper! They displayed
jealousy, envy, narrowness, ingratitude, unbelief, cowardice. As theseunlovely
thingsappeared in the men Jesus
had chosen—his friendship did not slacken or unloose its hold. He had taken them
as his friends, and he trusted them wholly; he committed himself to them
absolutely, without reserve, without condition, without the possibility of
withdrawal. No matter how they failed—he loved them still. He was patient with
their weaknesses and with their slow growth.

Jesus
thought not of the present comfort and pleasure of his friends—but of their
highest and best good. Too oftenhumanfriendship
in its most generous and lavish kindness—is really most unkind. It thinks that
its first duty is to giverelieffrom
pain, tolightenburdens,
toalleviatehardship,
tosmooththe
rough path. Too often serious hurt is done by thisover-tenderness
of human love. But Jesus made no such mistakes in dealing with his friends.
He did not try to make lifeeasyfor
them. He did notpamperthem.
He never lowered the conditions of discipleship, so that it would be easyfor
them to follow him. He did not carry their burdens for them—but put into their
hearts courage and hope to inspire and strengthen them to carry their own loads.

He did
not keep themsecludedfrom
the world in a quiet shelter, so that they would not come in contact with the
world's evil nor meet its assaults; his method with them was to teach them how
to live so that they should have the divine protection in the midst of spiritual
danger, and then to send them forth to face the perils and fight the battles.
His prayer for his disciples was not that they should be taken out of the world,
thus escaping its dangers and getting away from its struggles—but that they
should be kept from the world's evil. He knew that if they would become good
soldiers, they must be trained in the midst of the conflict. Hence he did not
fight their battles for them.

He did
not save Peter from being sifted; it was necessary that his apostle should pass
through the terrible experience, even though he should fail in it and fall. His
prayer for him was not that he should not be sifted—but that his faith should
not altogether fail. His aim in all his dealings with his friends—was to train
them into heroic courage and invincible character, and not to lead them alongflowery
pathsthroughgardens
of ease.

We are in
the habit of saying that the follower of Christ will always find goodness and
mercy wherever he is led. This is true; but it must not be understood to mean
that there will never be anyhardnessto
endure, anycrossto
bear, anypainorlossto
experience. We grow best—under burdens. We learn most—when lessons are hard.
When we get through this earthly life, and stand on the other side, and can look
back on the path over which we have been led—it will appear that we have found
our best blessings where we thought the way was most dreary and desolate! We
shall see then, that what seemedsternness
andseverityin
Christ—was really truest and wisest friendship.

Sometimes
godly people are disappointed in the way theirprayersare
answered. Indeed, they seem not to be answered at all. They ask God to take away
some trouble, to lift off some load—but their request is not granted. They
continue to pray, for they read that we must be importunate, that men ought
always to pray and not to faint; but still there seems no answer. Then they are
perplexed. They cannot understand why God's promises have failed.

But they
have onlymisread the promises.
There is no assurance given that the burdens shall be lifted off—and carried for
us. God would not be the wise, good, and loving Father he is—if at every cry of
any of his children, he ran to take away the trouble, or free them from the
hardness, or make all things easy and pleasant for them. Such a course would
keep usalways children,
untrained, undisciplined. Only in burden-bearing and in enduring, can we learn
to be strong. Jesus himself was trained on the battlefield, and in life's actual
experiences of trial. He learned obedience—by the things that he suffered. It
was by meeting temptation and by being victorious in it—that he became Master of
the world, able to deliver us in all our temptations.

Not
otherwise can we grow into Christlike men. It would be unkindness in our Father,
to save us from the experiences by which alone we can be disciplined into robust
and vigorous strength. The promises do not read that if we call upon God in our
trouble—he will take the trouble away. Rather the assurance is that if we call
upon God—he will answer us. The answer may not berelief;
it may be onlycheer. We are
taught to cast our burden upon the Lord—but we are not told that the Lord will
take it away. The promise is that he willsustainus
under the burden. We are to continue to bear it; and we are assured that we
shall not faint under the load, for God willstrengthenus.
The assurance is not that we shall not be tempted—but that no temptation but
such as man can bear shall come to us, and that the faithful God will not allow
us to be tempted above that we are able to endure.

This,
then, is what divine friendship does. It does not make iteasyfor
us to live—for then we should get no blessing of strength and goodness from
living. How, then, are our prayers answered? Godsustainsus so that we
faint not; and then, as we endure in faith and patience, his blessing is upon
us, giving us wisdom, and imparting strength to us.

The
friendship of Jesus was alwayssympathetic.
Many people, however, misunderstand the meaning of sympathy. They think of it as
merely a weak pity, which sits down beside one who is suffering or in sorrow,
and enters into the experience, without doing anything to lift him up or
strengthen him. Such sympathy is really of very little value in the time of
trouble. It may impart a consciousness of companionship which will somewhat
relieve the sense of aloneness—but it makes the sufferer no braver or stronger.
Indeed, it takes strength from him, by aggravating his sense of distress.

It was
not thus, however, that the sympathy of Jesus was manifested. There was no real
pain or sorrow in anyone, which did not touch his heart and stir his compassion.
He bore the sicknesses of his friends, and carried their sorrows, entering with
wonderful love into every human experience. But he did more thanfeelwith
those who were suffering, andweepbeside
them. His sympathy was always for their strengthening. He never
encouraged exaggerated thoughts of pain or suffering—for in many minds there is
a tendency to such feelings. He never gave countenance to morbidness, self-pity,
or any kind of unwholesomeness in grief. He never spoke of sorrow or trouble in
a despairing way. He sought toinculcate
hope—and to make men braverandstronger.
His ministry was always towardcheerandencouragement.
He gave great eternal truths on which his friends might rest in their sorrow,
and then bade them be of good cheer, assuring them that he had overcome the
world. He gave them his peace and his joy; not sinking down into the depths of
sad helplessness with them—but rather lifting them up to sympathy with him in
his victorious life.

The
wondroushopefulnessof
Jesus pervades all his ministry on behalf of others. He was never discouraged.
Every sorrow was to him—a path to a deeper joy. Every battle was a way to the
blessing of victoriousness. Every load under which men bent, was a secret of new
strength. In all loss—gain was enfolded. Jesus lived this life himself; it was
nomere theorywhich
he taught to his followers, and had never tried or proved himself. He never
asked his friends to accept any such untested theories. He lived all his own
lessons!He was not a mereteacher; he was aleaderof
men. Thus his strong friendship was full of magnificent inspiration. He called
men to new things in life, and was ready to help them reach the highest
possibilities in achievement and attainment.

This
friendship of Jesus is the inspiration which is lifting the world toward divine
ideals. "I, if I be lifted up from the earth, will draw all men unto me," was
the stupendous promise and prophecy of Jesus, as his eye fell on theshadow
of the crossat his feet, and he
thought of the fruits of his great sorrow and the influence of his love. Every
life that is struggling to reach the beauty and perfectness of God's thought for
it, is feeling the power of this blessed friendship, and is being lifted up into
the likeness of the Master.

This
friendship of Jesus waits as a mighty divine yearning at the door of every human
heart. "Behold, I stand at the door, and knock," is its call. "If any man hears
my voice, and open the door—I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he
with me." This blessed friendship waits before each life, waits to be accepted,
waits to receive hospitality. Wherever it is received, it inspires in the heart,
a heavenly love which transforms the whole life. To be a friend of Christ—is to
be a child of God in the goodly fellowship of heaven!